•sity  of  California 
them  Regional 
brary  Facility 


Under  the   Harrow 


Under  the  Harrow 


By 

Ellis  Meredith 

Author  of  "The  Master  Knot  of  Human  Fate," 
"  Heart  of  My  Heart,"  Etc. 


The  toad  beneath  the  harrow  knowi 
Exactly  where  each  tooth-point  goes. 
The  butterfly  upon  the  road 
Preaches  contentment  to  the  toad. 

Pagftt,  M.P. 


Boston 

Little,  Brown,  and  Company 
1907 


Copyright,  1907, 
BY  LITTLE,   BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


righti  reserved 


PUBLISHED,  MARCH,  1907 


8.  J.  PABKHILL  <fc  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.  8.  A. 


DEDICATED  TO 
THE   HEAVENLY  TWINS 

AND  ALL  THOSE  GOLDEN  GIRLS  AND  LADS  WHO  CLIMB 

THE  HILL  DIFFICULTY 
TOWARDS  MOUNT  PARNASSUS 


2229004 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 


'T^HE  rain  was  falling  steadily,  insistently, 
and  the  winter  night  was  cold  and  cheer- 
less. Lorraine  Townsend  plodded  on  down 
Broadway,  the  water  sopping  through  her  worn 
shoes  at  every  step,  while  her  wet  skirts  were 
blown  and  wrapped  about  her  by  the  wind 
which  threatened  to  tear  her  umbrella  from 
her  numbed  fingers.  The  many  lights  were  a 
blur  in  the  rain  and  the  shops  looked  inhos- 
pitable. She  turned  west  at  Twenty-third 
Street,  and  sighed  as  she  looked  at  the  long, 
interminable  blocks,  and  took  a  fresh  hold 
upon  her  refractory  umbrella.  Presently,  turn- 
ing in  at  a  small  grocery,  she  bought  the  supper 
supplies  for  herself  and  the  two  girls  who  were 
waiting  for  her  in  the  fourth  floor  back,  a 
block  or  so  beyond.  She  wondered  whether 

i 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

they  had  had  anything  to  eat  that  day.  They 
had  finished  the  crackers  the  night  before  and 
the  tea  that  morning.  She  was  conscious  of  a 
feeling  of  weakness  which  had  superseded  that 
of  hunger  to  which  she  had  grown  accustomed 
during  the  past  few  months,  and  she  dreaded 
the  cold,  dark  room  and  the  wan  faces  of  her 
companions.  But  there  was  enough  change 
left  to  buy  some  coal,  and  then  had  she  not 
glorious  news  ?  Poor  they  unquestionably  were, 
but  before  them  were  glowing  possibilities. 

She  hesitated  a  little,  for  Hope  was  sarcastic 

1 

and  Bess  matter  of  fact,  and  what  had  seemed 
an  amusing  adventure  might  not  appeal  to 
them  in  the  same  way.  Lorraine  held  her 
parcels  tightly  and  tried  to  hurry.  One  more 
turn,  and  she  found  herself  stumbling  up  the 
dimly  lit  stairway,  conscious  of  an  excited  col- 
loquy going  on  overhead.  As  she  reached  the 
last  turn  she  saw  the  attenuated  form  of  their 
landlady  and  heard  her  high,  strident  voice. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  unreasonable,  and  you 
ain't  much  behind,  with  this  leastways,"  she 
was  saying,  while  she  examined  the  bill  in  her 
hand,  "but  land  sakes,  what's  the  use  of  it 

2 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

all  ?  Every  day  of  my  life  I  useter  say  to 
Mr.  Willis,  'Mr.  Willis,'  I  says,  *  what's  the 
good  of  it  all?'  and  up  to  the  day  he  died  he 
never  made  no  answer,  and  I  don't  know  as 
he  would  if  he  was  to  rise  up  now.  Seems 
like  a  man  would  hardly  lie  down  an'  die  if 
there  was  any  use  livin'.  Here  you  be,  a-tryin* 
to  write  books  and  paint  picturs  and  sech-like, 
just  as  if  there  wasn't  hundreds  a-starvin'  at 
it  now.  So  long's  you  pay  your  rent  'tain't  no 
affair  of  mine,  but  what  air  ye  doin'  it  for  ? 
Some  of  ye  has  good  homes,  an*  ye'd  be  a  sight 
better  off  in  'em.  New  York  ain't  no  place 
for  young  girls,  and  the  better  lookin'  they 
air  the  worse  it  is.  There  ain't  none  of  you 
to  say  homely  enough  to  get  out  and  make  a 
livin'  with  any  comfort." 

Lorraine  was  used  to  Mrs.  Willis.  "Is  this 
a  new  book  of  lamentations?"  she  asked 
cheerfully,  as  she  gained  the  landing  and  was 
fallen  upon  by  her  waiting  comrades  in  distress, 
who  relieved  her  of  her  parcels  and  her  drip- 
ping umbrella.  She  had  expected  to  find 
gloom  and  a  chilly  stove,  but  the  parlor  cook 
had  got  over  the  sulks,  the  kettle  was  singing, 

3 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

and  the  room  was  warm  and  light.  Mrs. 
Willis  took  her  departure  regretfully,  with  a 
lingering  look  at  the  parcels  Lorraine  had 
brought,  and  the  girl  looked  around  with  a 
feeling  that  she  had  been  defrauded  of  her 
part  of  good  fairy.  "What  has  happened  ?" 
she  asked,  surprise  and  grievance  mingling  in 
her  voice. 

"It's  'many  happy  returns'  and  one  of  them 
wasn't  so  bad,"  said  Hope  gleefully.  "  Can  you 
believe  it  ?  We  have  a  check,  just  a  little  one, 
of  course,  but  it  did  some  good." 

"Which  did  you  sell?"  asked  Lorraine 
eagerly,  "and  what  has  come  back?" 

"I  sold  some  nonsense  verses  with  Bess' 
illustrations,  or  maybe  it  was  the  pictures  that 
sold.  Anyhow,  I  got  eight  dollars,  and  while 
that  isn't  much  it  was  enough  to  'soften  the 
heart  of  the  cow.'  I  wouldn't  have  given  Mrs. 
Willis  so  much  of  it,  but  she  was  here  when  it 
came,  explaining  how  really  sensible  young 
women  do  housework,  which  pays  well  and 
requires  no  previous  training!  and  no  outlay 
for  clothes,  so  I  had  to  convince  her  that 
literature  is  a  paying  profession.  I  promised 
4 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

her  an  immediate  settlement  if  she  would  let 
us  have  some  coal,  and  then  I  went  out  and 
got  the  check  cashed  and  bought  a  dollar's 
worth  of  stamps.  I  could  put  them  in  my 
purse  where  she  couldn't  see  them,  and  1  gave 
her  the  rest.  There's  nothing  to  eat,  but  it's 
warm  anyhow." 

Lorraine  laughed.  "Isn't  that  just  like 
Hope?"  she  said,  "a  dollar's  worth  of  stamps 
and  a  Mother  Hubbard  pantry.  But  there's 
plenty  to  eat,  an'  it  please  you.  I've  had  just 
a  bit  of  luck  to-day  too,  and  we  are  going  to 
have  supper,  a  real,  hot  supper." 

"Tell  us  about  the  luck,"  said  Hope. 

"Not  yet,"  answered  Lorraine  evasively. 
"  Let's  have  something  to  eat,  and  tell  me  about 
the  stories.  Maybe  you  won't  think  much  of 
my  piece  of  news." 

After  the  supper  things  were  cleared  away, 
the  girls  gathered  about  the  stove  and  Lorraine 
asked,  "Where  are  the  rest  of  the  returns? 
Which  of  mine  came  back?" 

"I'm  not  sure,"  answered  Hope;  "but  I 
think  this  is  'Eagle  Eye,'"  handing  over  a  long 
envelope,  "and  this  is  about  the  weight  of 

5 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

'An  Experiment  in  Polities';  that  takes  three 
stamps,  doesn't  it  ?  and  this  looks  like  poetry." 

Lorraine  frowned.  "  Contemporaneous  verse, 
my  child.  You  will  never  be  the  real  thing 
until  you  learn  these  distinctions.  Call  no 
man,  or  woman  either,  a  poet  until  after 
death."  She  opened  the  envelopes.  "Yes, 
here's  poor  old  'Eagle  Eye';  he's  nearly  been 
the  rounds.  The  other  is  'Harriet's  House- 
hold.' Now  what  do  you  think  is  the  matter 
with  them  ?" 

Hope  reflected  a  moment.  "  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  story  of  the  girl  who  makes  jam  and 
wants  to  be  a  writer  ?  She  has  written  one 
story,  which  she  can't  sell,  and  everybody 
advises  her  differently.  There's  a  pirate  in  it, 
and  first  she  is  told  to  take  him  out  and  send 
it  to  a  religious  magazine,  and  then  when  it 
comes  back  she  puts  him  in  again;  and  she 
keeps  on  taking  him  out  and  putting  him  back, 
until  finally  she  rewrites  the  whole  thing,  and 
sells  it  on  the  strength  of  the  pirate.  Then 
she  retires  on  her  laurels  and  sells  jam  the  rest 
of  her  days.  It's  not  very  clear  in  my  mind, 
but  I  think  if  you  could  make  the  pirate  motif 

6 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

a  trifle  more  couchant  in  'Eagle  Eye'  and  a 
wee  mite  more  rampant  in  'Harriet's  House- 
hold' it  would  be  an  improvement.  'Eagle 
Eye'  is  too  somber.  There's  no  relief  in  the 
tragedy;  can't  you  wash  off  some  of  the  war- 
paint, or  take  off  a  feather  or  two  —  " 

"It's  impossible,"  groaned  Lorraine.  "The 
only  thing  you  can  take  off  in  that  story  is 
scalps.  Besides,  I've  told  it  the  way  it  hap- 
pened. Isn't  there  any  publisher  who  cares 
for  history  ?" 

"That's  nothing.  People  don't  care  how  a 
thing  happened.  They  want  it  to  happen  to 
suit  them,  and  you  know  yourself  you  couldn't 
sleep  after  reading  a  story  like  that.  Do  try 
and  tone  it  down." 

"I  know  what  Hope  means,"  said  Bess. 
"When  Dick  Heldar's  'Last  Shot'  doesn't 
please,  he  just  puts  the  soldier  in  his  Sunday 
clothes  and  gives  him  a  clean  shave  and  a 
bath  and  sells  him  for  twice  as  much  and  says, 
'If  they  want  furniture  polish,  let  them  have 
furniture  polish,  so  long  as  they  pay  for  it.' 
They  don't  want  real  Indians  and  fresh  war- 
paint. Give  your  hero  a  diploma  from  Car- 

7 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

lisle  and  a  tailor-made  suit  instead  of  a  blanket. 
You  can't  foreshorten  a  picture  as  it  is  in  life. 
Nobody  would  believe  it." 

Lorraine  shook  her  head  obstinately.  "Pos- 
sibly I  can  leave  off  some  feathers,"  she  said, 
"but  it  won't  be  true  to  life.  As  it  is  I  didn't 
scalp  my  victim,  and  I  toned  down  my  no- 
menclature and  called  'Hell  Gate'  another 
name,  which  is  enough  to  bar  me  from  mem- 
bership among  the  Daughters  of  the  Pioneers. 
When  you  have  a  pirate  story  I  don't  believe 
in  decorating  his  long,  low,  rakish  craft  with 
pink  and  white  pop-corn  and  Christmas-tree 
candles,  and  serving  afternoon  tea.  If  you're 
going  to  have  a  pirate  at  all,  you  have  to  have 
grog,  extra  rations  of  it,  and  in  spite  of  my 
W.  C.  T.  U.  mother,  when  I  go  on  freebooting 
expeditions  I  insist  on  Jamaica  rum." 

"That  may  all  be  true,"  said  Hope  doubt- 
fully, "but  this  is  the  twelfth  venture.  He  has 
only  one  more  chance.  There  must  be  some- 
thing wrong." 

"Maybe  it's  the  readers,"  sagely  suggested 
Bess. 

"Darling  child!"  murmured  Lorraine  grate- 
8 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

fully.  "No,  there's  something  the  matter,  but 
I  don't  know  what.  I'll  send  him  out  West 
somewhere;  maybe  they'll  take  to  him  more 
kindly,  but  he's  such  a  good  Indian  I  thought 
he'd  stand  a  better  show  East  where  folks  have 
had  a  few  hundred  years  to  forget  about 
Indians.  Then  if  he  comes  back  he'll  have  to 
go  to  the  ash-barrel." 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  other  one?" 
asked  Bess. 

"Harriet'?  I  think  Hope  is  right  about 
her,"  Lorraine  admitted.  "That's  another  true 
story,  and  the  end  isn't  dramatic  enough.  If 
I  could  bring  in  the  bold  buccaneer  long  enough 
to  sing  the  'Pirate's  Serenade'  and  make  off 
with  the  fair  but  reluctant  Harriet,  that  would 
improve  it."  She  looked  over  the  typewritten 
pages  and  sighed.  "That  means  rewriting  at 
least  two-thirds  of  it,  and  when  I  typewrite  my 
stuff  I  never  blame  the  editors  for  declining  it. 
I  don't  know  anything  that  will  reduce  a  swollen 
cranium  so  quickly.  Did  you  get  anything 
back,  Hope?" 

"Oh,  yes;  you  are  not  the  only  unsuccess- 
ful writer  in  New  York.  Here's  '  Mrs.  Field's 

9 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Good  Name/  with  a  polite  note  asking  me  to 
send  them  something  else  like  it,  but  different. 
Is  that  sarcasm,  or  does  the  editor  mean  to 
drive  me  to  a  home  for  the  feeble-minded  ?" 

"You  might  send  him  'Sara  Harding,'  that's 
different  but  like,"  ventured  Lorraine,  looking 
at  the  clock. 

"Mercy,  it's  after  ten,  and  you  haven't  told 
us  about  your  good  luck  yet,"  said  Bess. 

They  had  reached  the  hair-combing  stage, 
and  Lorraine  retreated  behind  the  thick  masses 
of  a  chestnut  mane  that  almost  reached  the 
floor.  "You  know  I  washed  my  hair  yester- 
day," she  said  irrelevantly. 

"Your  efforts  to  put  off  the  evil  day  are  all  in 
vain,"  laughed  Hope.  "What  has  washing  your 
hair  to  do  with  this  wonderful  piece  of  news  ?" 

"Lots,"  she  answered  briefly;  "I've  rented 
my  hair." 

The  girls  stared  at  her.  Bess  found  her  voice 
first.  "You're  not  going  to  have  it  cut  off!" 
she  cried  in  horror-stricken  tones. 

Lorraine's  courage  had  returned.  "I  said 
rented,  not  sold,"  she  answered.  "You  know 
how  dreadfully  it  blew  this  afternoon  about 

10 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

three  ?  I  never  can  do  anything  with  my  hair 
for  a  day  or  two  after  it  is  washed.  It  just 
sifts  out  the  pins.  I  felt  it  coming  down  and 
made  a  wild  clutch  at  it  and  took  refuge  in  a 
tiny  drug  store  kept  by  a  tiny  old  man,  up  on 
Fortieth  Street,  and  the  whole  pile  of  it  un- 
uncoiled." 

"And  you  looked  just  like  'The  Lady  of 
Shalott'  in  the  old  editions  of  Tennyson,"  said 
Hope. 

"  Perhaps,  but  it  was  a  blessing,  not  a  curse, 
that  came  upon  me,"  responded  Lorraine. 
"One  can't  be  dignified  under  such  circum- 
stances as  that.  The  nice  little  old  man 
laughed  and  made  some  pretty  speeches,  and 
I  bought  some  hairpins  with  my  last  pennies; 
and  —  to  make  a  long  story  short  —  I  am  going 
to  sit  in  his  window,  with  my  hair  spread 
abroad,  as  an  advertisement  for  a  tonic  he  can 
make  for  a  cent  and  sell  for  a  dollar  a  bottle. 
It's  an  old  prescription  that  my  family  has 
always  used,  and  is  really  good.  He's  going 
to  divide  the  profits  evenly,  and  insisted  on  my 
taking  a  small  advance.  Hence  the  supper. 
His  name  is  Peter  Bright,  and  his  customers, 

ii 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

most  of  them,  call  him  'Uncle  Peter/  I  once 
knew  three  old  maid  sisters,"  she  went  on, 
"who  used  to  prepare  for  death  every  little 
while,  so  as  to  spare  those  who  should  be  left 
when  the  sad  day  came.  They  had  a  lot  of 
trouble  to  know  what  to  do  with  their  false 
hair,  for  they  had  all  lived  in  the  days  of 
chignons  and  waterfalls,  and  they  had  waves 
and  curls  and  switches  and  frizzes;  so  at  last 
they  bundled  up  the  whole  assortment  and 
sold  it  to  a  hair-dealer.  Now  if  one  can  rent  her 
hair  and  keep  it  too,  isn't  that  much  better  than 
using  it  merely  to  keep  one's  hat  in  place  ?" 

"Lorraine,  you  certainly  are  a  trump!"  said 
Bess. 

"Besides,  it  will  work  out  two  ways,  as  I 
figure  it,"  went  on  Lorraine.  "First,  it  will 
give  us  a  much-needed  revenue,  for  if  I  do  say 
it  as  shouldn't,  there's  not  a  thin-haired  woman 
in  New  York  but  would  buy  a  tonic  that  will 
grow  hair  like  that;  and,  second,  it  will  give 
me  a  subject  for  a  good,  newsy  article,  — 
'How  it  feels  to  be  an  Advertisement/  Come, 
let's  go  to  bed.  There's  something  to  get  up 
for  to-morrow  morning." 

12 


II 


ORRAINE'S  business  adventure  proved  so 
successful  that  she  prolonged  it  for  several 
weeks  longer  than  she  at  first  intended.  A  real 
friendship  sprang  up  between  her  and  "Uncle 
Peter,"  who  took  heart  of  grace  and  cleaned 
up  the  shop  under  her  direction,  and  indulged  in 
a  fresh  coat  of  paint  for  his  dingy  sign.  In  turn 
she  told  him  the  story  of  their  struggle,  and  her 
plan  to  write  up  her  experience.  He  listened 
with  pleased  interest,  and  then  said:  "When 
you  get  it  done,  mail  it  to  this  address.  Mary 
Deland  is  my  niece,  and  she  has  an  editorial 
position  on  this  paper.  I'll  give  you  a  note  to 
enclose  to  her,  and  she  will  do  the  best  she  can 
for  you.  We  don't  see  each  other  often,  for 
we  both  work  long  hours,  but  we  love  each 
other  dearly.  She  is  almost  my  only  relative. 
And  drop  in  sometimes.  I  wish  you  were  my 
niece  too." 

It  was  two  weeks  before  Lorraine  heard  any 
news  from  her  story.     Then  there  came  a  note 

13 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 
asking  her  to  call  on  Mrs.  Deland.     The  re- 

O 

vulsion  of  feeling,  the  hope  that  her  work  was 
not  absolutely  worthless,  since  it  was  not  re- 
turned, brought  Lorraine's  nerves  almost  to 
the  snapping  point.  Quite  suddenly  she  real- 
ized all  the  strain  of  the  past  few  weeks,  and 
the  blank  misery  if  this  hazard  also  proved  a 
failure.  The  girls  cheered  her  as  best  they 
could,  and  lent  her  whatever  wearing  apparel 
they  possessed  that  would  lend  any  touch  to  her 
costume.  It  is  a  sad  commentary  on  human 
nature,  but  they  had  all  learned  that  one  is 
not  more  likely  to  obtain  work  because  the  need 
of  it  is  obvious. 

Fortunately  she  did  not  have  to  wait  long, 
and  as  she  was  ushered  into  a  small,  well- 
appointed  office  she  was  welcomed  by  a  very 
tall,  beautiful  woman  who  held  out  her  hand 
and  said  with  a  charming  smile:  "I  am  very 
pleased  to  meet  you,  Miss  Townsend;  any  one 
of  Uncle  Peter's  friends  is  dear  to  me  for  his 
sake,  but  as  a  writer  you  are  all  the  more 
welcome."  Mrs.  Deland  knew  something  of 
human  nature,  and  Lorraine's  dumb  and  im- 
ploring face  told  her  all  Uncle  Peter's  letter 

1.4 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

had  omitted.  "Sit  down,  and  let  us  have  a 
cup  of  tea,"  she  said.  "I  always  have  tea 
about  this  hour,  and  I  want  to  hear  about 
Uncle  Peter,  and  then  we  will  talk  about  the 
story." 

Lorraine  told  all  about  her  meeting  with 
Uncle  Peter,  and  their  subsequent  partnership, 
with  girlish  enthusiasm.  It  was  such  a  relief 
not  to  have  to  speak  of  herself  right  at  first. 
When  they  had  reached  the  second  cup  and 
Lorraine  was  quite  herself  again,  Mrs.  Deland 
said:  "We  like  your  stuff"  very  much;  the 
managing  editor  wanted  me  to  see  you  and 
talk  with  you,  —  no,  I  don't  mean  about  this 
story,  for  it  is  already  being  set  up,  but  could 
you  keep  on  ?  We  want  some  daily  human  in- 
terest stories;  say  half  to  three-quarters  of  a 
column;  never  more  than  that." 

Lorraine's  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  her 
mouth  for  the  space  of  a  half-minute,  then  she 
said  she  thought  she  could;  there  was  a  little 
more  discussion,  and  then  she  found  herself 
in  The  Presence.  She  never  remembered  much 
of  that  interview.  She  had  a  hazy  recollection 
of  a  tall,  grizzled  man,  slight  of  form  with  keen 

15 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

eyes  and  a  voice  so  singularly  cool  that  one 
instinctively  looked  for  a  thermometer  to  see 
if  the  temperature  was  not  fall  ng. 

"Can  you  begin  now,  Miss  Townsend?"  he 
a  ked.  "Our  special  man  has  gone  to  the 
Herald,  and  we  wish  to  replace  him  at  once. 
You  bring  a  lighter  touch  and  a  new  point  of 
view.  That's  the  great  thing  in  newspaper 
work,  the  fresh  standpoint." 

"What  hour  shall  I  report?"  answered  Lor- 
raine. 

"You  might  report  to  Mrs.  Deland  for  a 
week  or  so  at  eight  in  the  morning  After 
that,  when  you  have  the  idea,  you  will  find  it 
more  convenient  to  keep  a  day  ahead,  and  turn 
in  your  copy  by  ten,"  he  answered,  turning 
away  from  a  look  of  such  gratitude  that  even 
he,  hardened  newspaper  man  that  he  was,  found 
himself  remembering  and  smiling  over  it. 

Lorraine  took  her  car  trying  to  realize  that 
her  career  had  begun,  but  found  herself  think- 
ing less  of  her  own  amazing  good  fortune  than 
of  Mary  Deland,  gracious,  wonderful  Mary 
Deland,  as  different  from  all  other  women  as 
if  she  belonged  to  a  new  type.  It  seemed  to 

16 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Lorraine  that  while  the  ordinary  New  York 
countenance  might  be  called  the  face  militant, 
Mary  Deland's  was  the  face  triumphant.  The 
usual  face  is  a  fighting  face;  the  grim  mouth, 
the  lines,  the  alert  eyes,  the  repression,  the 
mask  that  slips  now  and  then;  most  of  us, 
for  few  are  non-combatants,  show  the  signals 
of  war  in  our  faces.  The  flag  droops  at  half- 
mast,  it  is  shot  to  ribbons,  it  is  trai'ed  in  the 
dust,  it  is  hauled  down,  it  is  reversed;  sometimes 
it  is  the  black  flag,  sometimes  the  white;  some- 
times it  is  the  warning  yellow  of  the  plague 
ancf  sometimes  the  fluttering  red  of  the  auc- 
tioneer. Lorraine  felt  that  she  knew  the  fight- 
ing face  in  all  its  moods,  but  this  woman  was 
different.  Her  white  forehead  seemed  the  fit- 
ting symbol  of  the  lofty  soul  that  dwelt  within, 
her  sweet  lips  and  grave  eyes  were  full  of  the 
serenity  of  overcoming.  Thinking  of  her,  Lor- 
raine was  carried  far  past  the  corner  where  she 
should  have  left  her  car. 


Ill 


/"\NE  story  does  not  make  an  author,  nor 
provide  an  income,  save  in  rare  instances, 
nor  one  small  salary  insure  die  turning  of  a  win- 
try discontent  into  glorious  summer.  Though  the 
girls  contrived  to  live  upon  Lorraine's  wages, 
while  they  sought  employment  on  their  own 
account,  they  both  rebelled. 

"We  can't  go  on  this  way,  living  on  Lor- 
raine," said  Hope  one  gloomy  afternoon  turn- 
ing away  from  her  typewriter  and  gathering  up 
her  manuscript.  "It's  outrageous.  She  could 
get  along  fairly  well  on  what  she  makes,  but 
this  thing  of  taking  care  of  two  able-bodied 
women  is  too  much." 

"I  know,"  said  Bess  dismally,  looking  up 
from  the  table  that  was  strewn  with  her  card- 
board, and  poising  her  pen  in  mid-air  to  the 
imminent  danger  of  her  last  sketch.  "I  sup- 
pose I  ought  to  go  home,  as  Mrs.  Willis  says. 
Did  you  hear  her  this  morning?  Anybody 
would  think  we  were  Barn  urn's  ten-thousand- 

18 


1MDER  THE  HARROW 

dollar  beauties  to  listen  to  her  go  on  about  the 
frmpratimn  ind  uirfjBi  Tifcirh  thn  rky  nrniiiffi 
for  the  good  looking.  She  spent  at  least  {fifteen 
nunutes  asajiung  me  that  the  one  thing  she 
and  the  late  LjinrjMrd  ewer  agreed  upon  was 
that  this  show  was  not  worth  die  pace  of 
aAnksJMij  and  that  aD  its  three  rings  wouldn't 
fiiiniA  sawdust  c  noiiffi  ID  stnnr  onr  don,,  and 
after  k  was  stuffed  k  would  be  nothing  but 
sawdust. —  Oh,  is  that  you,  Lorraine  ?" 

**  Yes,  and  I'm  glad  I  amrcd  in  time  to  hear 
that  disquisition  on  sawdust.  If  there  B  a 
class  of  people  on  earth  lor  whom  I  ha*r  no 
use,  k*s  die  crowd  who  mourn  when  they  find 
dieir  dofls  stuffed  wkh  sawdust.  Whfle  my 
doll  has  anything  in  k  I  shall  not  coonplam.  It 
is  only  when  she  hangs,  hmp  and  iat,  wkh 
nothing  to  pin  her  dotfacs  to  and  dancing 
china  limbs,  that  yon  ait  going  to  hear  die 
outcry  of  my  anguished  souL  What  do  yon 
cipcct  in  a  fijtry~nine-cent  doD  ?"" 

"Marked  down  from  two  eigjhiy-lour/*  added 
Hope. 

"And  dear  at  any  price,"  said  a  race  from 
the  doorway. 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

The  girls  turned  in  the  dull  twilight,  and 
Lorraine  flung  open  the  door.  Their  unex- 
pected guest  was  a  little  old  lady,  with  near- 
sighted eyes,  peering  through  thick-lensed 
glasses.  She  was  dressed  in  the  hodden  gray 
of  the  Quaker,  and  a  black  and  tan  dog  was  at 
her  heels. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said.  "I  rapped 
twice,  but  you  did  not  hear  me,  and  the  door 
was  ajar,  and  I  couldn't  help  overhearing  your 
conversation.  My  name  is  Brent,  and  I'm  the 
oldest  of  the  Heavenly  Twins.  My  sister  Eliza 
is  only  sixty,  and  there's  just  as  much  sawdust 
in  our  dolls  as  there  ever  was." 

Her  manner  was  so  quaint  and  her  ac- 
cent so  cheery  that  the  girls  drew  toward 
her  as  if  she  were  more  promising  than  the 
sullen  stove.  "Perhaps,"  said  Lorraine, 
politely  offering  her  a  chair,  "you  can  tell 
these  tiresome  children  how  to  keep  the  saw- 
dust in  their  dolls." 

"Or  how  to  keep  one's  sawdust  and  eat  it 
too,"   said    Bess.     "That's   the   rub,   and   one 
does   grow  hungry   now  and   then.     Can   you 
tell  us  anything  about  a  sawdust  diet?" 
20 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"Certainly,"  said  Miss  Brent.  "Dear,  dear, 
but  it  is  shameful  the  way  the  classics  are 
neglected.  Have  you  never  heard  of  the 

*  Old  person  of  Crewd, 
Who  said,  We  use  sawdust  for  food ; 

It  is  cheap  by  the  ton, 

And  it  nourishes  one, 
And  that's  the  main  object  of  food  '  ?  " 

"I  wonder  where  one  could  find  the  nearest 
carpenter  shop,"  said  Lorraine  reflectively. 
"Miss  Brent,  you  behold  before  you  three 
persons  of  undoubted  genius.  One  of  us  has 
written  a  book  which  has  been  called  a  classic; 
as  nobody  reads  it,  when  it  gets  old  enough  it 
may  get  into  that  category.  We  know  we  are 
geniuses  because  we  seldom  have  enough  to 
eat,  while  mere  mediocrity  goes  forth  and  or- 
ders steak  and  onions.  We  live  in  a  garret, 
never  have  any  new  clothes  and,  much  to  our 
regret,  we  are  devoted  to  art  for  art's  sake;  at 
least  we  can't  get  anything  else  for  it." 

"That  sounds  like  a  true  bill,"  said  Miss 
Brent.  "What  do  you  do  ?" 

"We  do  various  things.  Hope  would  have 
liked  to  tread  the  histrionic  boards,  but  owing 

21 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

to  her  entire  lack  of  vanity  I  can't  persuade 
her  to  try,  and  so  she  'ekes  out  a  miserable 
existence' —  that's  the  right  expression,  isn't  it  ? 
—  as  a  producer  of  'literacheur,'  which  is  also 
my  avocation.  We  have  done  some  things  of 
great  brilliance.  The  reason  it  is  so  dark  is 
that  yesterday  Hope  found  some  stamps  and 
sent  off  all  our  efforts.  Usually  our  apartment 
looks  like  the  grotto  in  a  pantomime,  lit  solely 
by  the  effulgence  of  our  unpublished  works. 
We  mean  to  keep  a  few  on  hand  to  save  kero- 
sene, but  Hope  is  so  extravagant." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Bess,  "some  of  them 
will  be  back  soon." 

"The  infant  prodigy  who  has  just  spoken," 
continued  Lorraine,  "hankers  to  'paint  on  a 
ten-league  canvas  with  brushes  of  camel's  hair/ 
but  so  far  her  chromos  usually  come  back,  save 
when  they  are  sent  with  some  soul-thrilling 
tale  of  Hope's,  and  sold  on  the  strength  of  the 
story." 

"Which  do  you  have  the  best  returns  from  ?" 
asked  Miss  Brent  curiously. 

"The  quickest?  I  think  Harpers  is  about 
as  reliable  as  any  of  them.  The  Century  is 
22 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

prompt.  Sometimes  they  come  back  from 
McClures  in  two  weeks,  and  I've  had  them 
back  from  the  Cosmopolitan  in  ten  days.  The 
Atlantic  takes  a  little  longer,  but  they  let  you 
down  with  a  personal  letter  that  encourages 
you  to  send  something  else.  The  rest  average 
along  from  two  weeks  to  a  month.  We  are 
small  prophets,  but  we  get  reasonably  quick 
returns." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Hope  with  a  dis- 
satisfied air.  "It  takes  over  a  year  for  a  story 
to  reach  the  ash-barrel.  Publishers  have  no 
right  to  waste  so  much  time.  Why  can't  they 
return  things  sooner  ?  At  this  rate  my  ash- 
barrel  will  not  be  half  full  when  I  make  my 
great  hit." 

"I  have  a  friend  in  California  who  says  all 
the  big  magazines  keep  agents  at  the  Mississippi 
River  to  meet  his  manuscript  and  turn  it  back; 
but  you'll  have  to  explain  about  the  ash-barrel. 
I  thought  writers  wanted  publishers  to  keep 
things,"  said  Miss  Brent. 

"That's  quite  the  old-fashioned  idea,"  said 
Hope.  "Now  the  way  is  to  get  an  ash-barrel 
full  of  stories  against  the  day  of  success.  Don't 

23 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

you  recall  that  delicious  fable  in  Life  of  the 
successful  author  and  his  ash-barrel  ?  It  tells 
how  the  critic  goes  forth  to  see  what  is  the 
matter  with  literature,  and  he  finds  a  plump 
old  gentleman  sitting  on  a  pile  of  laurels 
selling  stuff  marked  D.  W.  T.  —  declined  with 
thanks  —  out  of  a  barrel  he  filled  before  he 
grew  famous.  After  one  gets  the  laurels  he  can 
sell  anything,  but  it  is  against  the  rules  of  the 
Amalgamated  Order  of  Authors  to  put  any- 
thing into  the  ash-barrel  until  it  has  been  sent 
to  thirteen  places.  Any  one  doing  so  is  likely  to 
lose  his  working  card  and  be  fined  by  the  union." 

"But  why  thirteen?"  asked  Miss  Brent.  "I 
thought  thirteen  was  an  unlucky  number." 

"Well,  don't  you  think  it's  pretty  unlucky  to 
have  a  story  come  back  thirteen  times  ?"  asked 
Lorraine. 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course!"  answered  Miss  Brent, 
"it  looks  that  way,  but  then  that's  another 
sign  of  genius.  'Vanity  Fair'  was  rejected  by 
twenty  publishers,  and  Thackeray  brought  it 
out  himself.  '  Sartor  Resartus '  went  the  rounds. 
'Tom  Jones'  failed  until  is  was  dramatized. 
At  least  a  dozen  publishers  refused  'Uncle 
24 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Tom's  Cabin.'  'Innocents  Abroad'  was  de- 
clined by  all  the  standard  publishers  and  brought 
out  as  a  subscription  book.  It  took  two  years 
to  sell  'Ben  Hur,'  and  'Lorna  Doone'  made 
its  success  after  it  had  been  out  a  dozen  years. 
Miss  Corelli's  'Romance  of  Two  Worlds'  was 
refused  by  all  of  Bentley's  readers,  including 
Hall  Caine." 

"I  call  that  poetic  justice,"  laughed  Lorraine. 
"  Do  you  remember  how  Carolyn  Wells  brackets 
the  two  of  them  ? 

'To  the  masses  should  our  classes  offer  Ibsen  when  we  find 
Mr.  Caine  and  Miss  Corelli  better  please  the  massy  mind  ? ' 

But  you  must  be  following  the  literary  trail 
yourself  or  you  wouldn't  have  so  many  of  these 
consoling  facts  in  mind." 

Miss  Brent  blushed  a  charming  pink.  "Yes," 
she  said  bravely,  "that  is,  I'm  not,  but  I'd  like 
to  be.  That's  how  I  come  to  be  here.  An  old 
gentleman,  that  I'm  in  the  habit  of  pestering, 
tells  me  that  what  my  work  needs  is  editing, 
and  he  suggested  that  if  Miss  Townsend  would 
undertake  this  for  me  that  I  have  some  things 
that  might  do.  I  shall  not  mind  how  dis- 

25 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

couraging  you  are,"  she  went  on  valiantly,  turn- 
ing to  Lorraine.  "Do  you  remember  how 
Thackeray  asked  Jerrold  if  it  was  true  that  he 
had  said  'The  Virginians'  was  the  worst  book 
he  had  ever  written,  and  Jerrold  answered, 
'No,  I  said  it  was  the  worst  book  anybody  ever 
wrote'  ?  And  then  there  was  the  lunatic  —  I  beg 
your  pardon,  my  dear,  no  offence  to  you  —  who 
called  'The  Wreck  of  the  Grosvenor'  'a  cata- 
logue of  ship's  furniture,'  and  the  reviewer  who 
said  Byron  could  never  be  a  poet.  You  can 
call  my  scribbling  anything  you  like;  so  far 
no  one  has  been  willing  to  call  it  at  all  except 
Peter  Bright,  and  he  only  reads  it  because  we 
used  to  go  to  school  together.  Can  I  bring  the 
articles  to-morrow  ?  Will  you  really  be  so  good 
as  to  go  over  them  for  me,  for  a  consideration, 
of  course  ?" 

Lorraine  hesitated.  "I  don't  know  that  I 
can  be  of  any  use  to  you,"  she  said  honestly. 
"I  have  done  a  good  deal  of  reviewing,  but  I 
haven't  done  much  editorial  work,  and  don't 
feel  that  my  opinion  is  worth  much." 

"I'll   be   satisfied,"   said   Miss   Brent.     "I'd 
like  to  come  anyhow.     I'm  fond  of  geniuses." 
26 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

She  shook  hands  all  round,  and  Lorraine  saw 
her  down  the  dark  stairway.  A  carriage  was 
waiting  in  the  narrow  street,  to  the  great  in- 
terest of  the  neighbors.  It  seemed  darker  and 
colder  after  she  had  gone.  The  girls  held  the 
lamp  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  and  waited  Lor- 
raine's return. 

"What  do  you  think  she  is?"  asked  Hope. 
"  I  believe  she  is  a  district  visitor  from  a  college 
settlement,  looking  for  a  chance  to  improve  our 
minds  and  ask  us  to  hear  some  good  music." 

"Maybe  she's  a  city  missionary,"  said  Bess 
doubtfully. 

"She  might  be  the  committee-woman  for  this 
ward,"  said  Lorraine,  who  hailed  from  Denver, 
"but  she  isn't.  She  is  our  fairy  godmother.  I 
have  just  tucked  her  into  a  large  pumpkin 
drawn  by  four  fat  white  rats  and  she  has  vanished. 
You  just  wait  and  see.  Things  are  going  to  be 
better  for  us  and  that  right  early.  There  was 
no  condescension  about  her,  or  any  effort  to  lend 
us  aid  and  comfort  and  the  price  of  a  meal." 

"And  it  was  Uncle  Peter  who  sent  her!" 
added  Bess,  as  if  this  alone  constituted  a  guar- 
antee of  good  faith. 

27 


IV 


TN  April  there  came  an  upheaval  in  the  office 
where  Lorraine  was  employed,  and  the  new 
city  editor  promptly  discontinued  her  daily 
story.  "Come  around  in  a  week  or  so,"  he 
said  gruffly;  "there  may  be  something  then,  but 
not  now." 

Lorraine  turned  to  leave  the  office,  sick  at 
heart  and  utterly  discouraged,  and  meeting  Mary 
Deland  in  the  elevator  they  went  out  together. 
For  a  long  time  they  walked  in  silence,  then 
turned  in  at  Trinity  Churchyard. 

"It's  hard,"  Mary  said  at  last.  "It's  dread- 
fully hard  for  a  woman  to  do  newspaper  work, 
if  she  is  a  real  woman  and  feels  it  with  her 
heart.  You've  done  well,  Lorraine.  It  has 
been  really  good  work,  with  the  elixir  of  life  in 
it,  the  one  drop  of  human  blood  that  makes 
it  vital;  but  Maxwell  has  a  man  he  wants  to 
put  on,  and  he  has  to  show  his  authority  some 
way.  He  has  let  Hunter  out,  and  Hunter  is 
the  best  political  man  we  ever  had;  and  Stan- 
28 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

ley,  who  knows  more  about  music  than  any 
critic  we  are  likely  to  get.  How  he  had  the 
heart  to  discontinue  your  little  story  I  don't 
know." 

"City  editors  are  not  much  afflicted  with 
enlargement  of  the  heart,"  said  Lorraine 
gloomily.  She  was  thinking  of  the  attic  and 
the  parlor  cook  and  the  girls,  the  girls,  the  attic 
and  the  parlor  cook,  and  the  thought  was 
bitter. 

"  Some  of  them  are  kindness  itself,"  answered 
Mary.  "The  first  city  editor  I  ever  worked  for 
was  so  patient  and  painstaking  and  so  consid- 
erate in  the  assignments  he  gave  me  that  I  was 
spoiled  for  all  the  others.  But,  as  you  say, 
Maxwell  has  no  heart.  The  boys  in  the  office 
say  he  has  no  stomach  even." 

"What!"  cried  Lorraine  in  amazement. 

"Yes,  they  say  he  doesn't  eat;  he  stokes;  he 
gets  up  steam  in  the  boiler,  and  instead  of  the 
usual  heart,  lungs,  et  cetera,  he  has  works  which 
he  winds  up  every  week  or  so.  He  is  a  good 
machine,  but  woe  to  any  one  who  gets  caught 
among  the  cogs.  I  can't  stay  here  any  longer, 
Lorraine;  there  are  other  reasons,  and  I  am 

29 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

going  West.  I  have  a  good  offer  and  shall 
leave  at  once.  Can't  you  go  with  me  ?  It  is 
always  an  advantage  to  have  worked  in  New 
York,  and  I  think  I  might  be  able  to  help  you 
find  an  opening.  We  will  take  a  few  rooms 
together,  and  perhaps  we  can  find  time 
for  something  beside  the  'demnition  grind.' 
I  have  a  novel  I  want  to  finish.  Will  you  come, 
Lorraine  ?  There's  no  one  else  in  the  world 
that  I'd  care  to  have,  but  I  want  you." 

Lorraine  looked  up  at  the  taller  woman,  her 
guide  and  inspiration,  and  her  eyes  filled.  She 
longed  to  go,  but  she  thought  of  Hope,  working 
away  so  faithfully;  of  Bess,  whose  drawings  had 
been  accepted  several  times  of  late.  Without 
her  they  could  not  stay.  The  brimming  eyes 
brimmed  over  and  the  two  women  stole  into 
the  quiet,  dark  church,  and  Lorraine  had  her 
cry  out  on  Mary's  shoulder. 

"Some  day  you  will  come,"  she  said,  "and 
we  will  work  together,  and  until  then,  if  I  don't 
write  often,  don't  think  it  is  because  I  don't 
care."  She  held  up  her  shaking  right  hand, 
an  eloquent  if  silent  tribute  to  her  industry. 
"They  say  it  will  be  worse  as  time  goes  on, 
30 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

but  every  Sunday  there  will  be  something  in 
my  stuff  that  will  be  for  you,  and  you  must  try 
and  take  that  as  a  weekly  letter,  just  as  I  shall 
look  for  your  stories,  and  feel  that  I  am  hear- 
ing from  you." 

"  I  shall  write  to  you  whether  you  answer  or 
not,  Mary  Deland,  and  I  shall  read  every  line 
of  yours,"  said  Lorraine;  "and  when  the  girls 
don't  need  me  any  more  I  shall  come  to  you.  I 
shall  never  forget  what  you  have  been  to  me, 
what  you  have  done  for  me.  How  can  you 
understand  everything  so  perfectly  ?  How  can 
I  ever  learn  that  ?" 

Mary  Deland's  face  saddened.  "I  hope  you 
may  never  learn  by  experience,"  she  said.  "I 
hope  you  will  never  purchase  knowledge  at  so 
high  a  price  as  I,  for  it  has  been  dearly  bought 
and  paid  for  in  my  heart's  blood.  Some  day 
I  will  tell  you.  Promise  me,  Lorraine,  that 
every  day  you  will  write  something,  even  if  it 
is  only  twenty  lines,  into  which  you  put  the  best 
there  is  in  you,  for  some  day  you  are  going  to 
do  something  worth  while.  I  know  this  and 
look  forward  to  the  time  when  I  shall  be  very 
proud  of  you." 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

They  kissed  each  other  good-by  there  in  the 
somber  church  and  separated  at  the  gate,  one 
to  pack  trunks  and  buy  tickets,  the  other  to 
face  Mrs.  Willis  and  the  anxious  faces  of  her 
comrades 


might  as  well  face  the  cold  facts,  Lor- 
raine," said  Hope,  "and  they  are  cold, 
chronically,  clammily  cold,  like  this  stove," 
giving  the  coals  a  vicious  poke.  "You  go  with 
Mary  Deland  and  I'll  go  back  to  the  farm  and 
teach  school,  or  marry  William  Smith  or  some 
other  rural  hero.  I  can't  produce  literature,  or 
if  I  can  I  can't  sell  it.  I  used  to  say  if  all  else 
failed  I  would  start  a  waffle  factory,  for  I  can 
make  better  waffles  than  anybody,  but  I  haven't 
the  courage.  If  I  tried  it  all  the  hens  in  the 
country  would  strike,  eggs  would  soar  without 
waiting  to  hatch  wings,  and  I  verily  believe  sour 
milk  would  turn  sweet,  because  I  can't  cook 
with  baking  powder." 

"But  the  mortgage?"  asked  Lorraine;  "and 
-  it  isn't  exactly  pleasant  at  home,  is  it  ?" 

"No,"  drearily.  "A  mortgage  is  like  Nixon 
Waterman's  grass.  'I  see  it  growing  day  by 
day,  it  also  grows  by  night,'  and  the  interest 
eats  one  out  of  house  and  home,  but  at  this 

33 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

rate  I  shall  never  be  able  to  help  lift  it.  All  I've 
done  by  coming  here  is  to  relieve  them  of  the 
burden  of  my  existence,  and  you've  borne  that 
a  good  part  of  the  time,  which  isn't  fair.  The 
rent  is  due  for  another  month  and  we  haven't 
anything  ahead  to  speak  of,  and  you  know 
Mrs.  Willis." 

"Stand  her  off  for  a  few  days,"  answered 
Lorraine.  "Tell  her  that  'rent  is  robbery.' 
That  will  give  her  something  to  think  about 
and  us  a  little  more  time." 

"I've  had  time  enough,"  answered  Hope. 
"After  more  than  a  year  I  haven't  made  good, 
and  I  have  no  right  to  keep  you  here  when  you 
can  do  so  much  better.  If  Bess  can  hang  on 
a  little  longer  I  am  sure  she  will  succeed,  but 
I  can't  see  anything  ahead  for  myself.  I  can 
write  some  things  fairly  well,  but  it  is  work  for 
me;  I  don't  love  it  as  you  do.  I  have  the 
dramatic  instinct,  I  can  see  a  situation,  and  if 
I  could  say  it  I  could  make  it  sound  real,  but 
it  slips  away  before  I  can  write  the  words.  I'd 
starve  to  death  at  it.  Who's  that  ?" 

There  was  a  brisk  rat-a-tat  at  the  door  and 
Miss  Brent  came  in,  Rab  at  her  heels.  "Don't 
34 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

think  me  a  professional  eavesdropper,"  she  said, 
"but  who  is  starving?" 

"We  haven't  begun  yet,  at  least  not  enough 
to  hurt,"  answered  Lorraine;  "but  Hope  is  sure 
she  has  sighted  it  right  off  our  port  quarter  in 
the  fog.  I'm  delighted.  It's  a  sure  sign  of 
genius." 

Miss  Brent  shook  her  head.  "Don't  you 
ever  believe  such  trash  as  that.  Geniuses  don't 
starve  because  they  are  geniuses;  they  are 
geniuses  because  they  starve.  It  isn't  necessary 
to  know  any  more  about  literature  than  I  do 
to  see  that  it  is  suffering  from  fatty  degenera- 
tion." 

"Don't  try  to  reconcile  us  to  our  poverty, 
Miss  Brent,"  said  Hope,  laughing  a  trifle  bit- 
terly. "If  we  hanker  after  the  flesh-pots  of 
Egypt  it's  only  'them  spicy  garlic  smells'  we're 
thinking  of,  and  our  idea  of  riotous  living  is  to 
put  cream  on  our  porridge." 

Lorraine  adjusted  a  piece  of  paper  over  a 
broken  window  pane  and  tried  to  stir  the  fire 
to  some  sign  of  life,  and  Miss  Brent  sat  in  silent 
communion  with  herself  for  several  minutes. 
"Girls,"  she  said  finally,  "you  are  every  one 

35 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

of  you  the  owner  of  God-given  genius,  and 
genius  ought  always  to  live  in  the  attic  and 
keep  its  clothes  in  pawn,  like  Goldsmith  or 
Balzac.  If  it  lives  well  for  three  days  a  month, 
like  Henri  Miirger,  it  should  starve  the  other 
twenty-seven,  as  he  did,  or  be  without  a  sou, 
as  Gerard  de  Nerval  usually  was.  I  don't  like 
to  interfere  with  the  ways  of  Providence  or  lay 
a  straw  in  your  pathway,  but  the  truth  is,  our 
attic  is  full  of  geniuses  now,  and  there's  noth- 
ing left  but  the  basement.  There  is  a  kitchen 
and  a  big  dining-room  with  a  closet  and  a 
pantry.  The  furnace  is  on  that  floor,  so  it  is 
always  warm,  and  if  you  could  cook  and  eat 
in  the  kitchen,  and  fix  your  cots  in  the  other 
room,  you  might  be  very  comfortable.  We 
don't  use  that  part  of  the  house  any  more,  and 
you  would  be  more  than  welcome  if  you  cared 
to  come;  do  you  think  you  would  like  it? 
Please  don't  be  offended  at  the  offer." 

A  question  like  that  is  too  palpably  absurd 
for  an  answer.  The  two  older  girls  precipitated 
themselves  upon  Miss  Brent,  while  Bess  con- 
tented herself  with  nearly  hugging  the  life  out 
of  Rab.  There  being  nothing  to  wait  for  and 
36 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

no  vast  amount  of  household  goods  to  move, 
the  transfer  was  made  that  very  day,  while 
Mrs.  Willis  predicted  dire  disaster,  and  the 
Heavenly  Twins  hovered  over  their  new  prote- 
gees like  two  benevolent  bantam  hens,  cluck- 
ing encouragement  and  good  will. 


37 


VI 


'T~SHE  girls  had  been  installed  in  the  Brent 
basement  for  several  days  before  they  re- 
ceived a  visit  from  the  elder  of  the  Heavenly 
Twins. 

"We  didn't  want  you  to  think  we  should  be 
running  in  every  hour  in  the  day  just  because 
we  want  to,"  she  explained;  "but  Elise  does 
make  such  good  cookies  I  just  had  to  bring 
you  some."  She  put  a  heaped-up  plate  upon 
the  table  and  the  girls  fell  to.  Fortune  had  not 
yet  smiled  upon  them,  but,  even  if  she  had, 
cookies  by  a  pound-cake  recipe,  and  still 
smoking  hot  from  the  oven,  are  fit  food  for 
Fortune  herself. 

"Whichever  of  you  writes  a  book  first, 
mes  enfants,"  said  Miss  Brent,  "  if  it  has 
anything  about  geniuses  in  it,  is  hereby  noti- 
fied that  I  want  to  write  one  chapter.  No- 
body need  read  it,  and  you  can  label  it  To 
Be  Skipped,  but  I  want  to  write  just  one 
chapter." 

38 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

"You  shall,"  cried  Hope  and  Lorraine  in  a 
chorus.  "And  I'll  illustrate  it,  if  it  is  the  only 
picture  in  the  book,"  added  Bess;  "but  what  is 
it  to  be  about  ?" 

"The  advantages  of  hunger,"  answered  the 
old  lady.  "No,  but  seriously,  I  mean  it;  and 
while  you  might  not  think  it,  I  know  something 
about  it  myself.  When  Elise  and  I  went  to 
Paris  the  first  time  we  exhausted  our  allowance 
long  before  the  next  remittance  was  due.  We 
did  not  know  any  one  there,  we  were  not  very 
wealthy,  and  we  found  ourselves  confronted 
with  the  problem  of  living  three  weeks  on  ten 
francs.  First  we  went  without  our  breakfasts. 
That  is  quite  a  fad  now,  but  it  was  unheard  of 
then.  However,  the  Continental  breakfast  isn't 
much  to  go  without  when  you've  been  accus- 
tomed to  Pennsylvania  Dutch  cooking,  ham  and 
eggs,  fried  potatoes,  cracked  wheat,  'panhaus' 
and  buckwheat  cakes  pour  dejeuner.  Then  we 
took  to  eating  bread  and  nuts  and  apples  in  our 
room.  How  we  did  want  some  American  cook- 
ing, but  we  stretched  out  the  ten  francs,  and  at 
the  end  of  our  three  weeks  were  wiser  and 
healthier!  And  then,  what  do  you  think  we 

39 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

did  after  all  that  experience  ?  When  our  money 
came  we  went  straight  to  the  best  restaurant 
we  knew  and  ate  so  much  we  were  stupid  for 
two  days.  I've  always  felt  certain  that  if  we 
had  kept  on  short  rations  two  weeks  longer 
Elise  would  have  had  her  pictures  on  the  line 
and  I  might  have  achieved  a  place  on  the  staff 
of  Figaro." 

"Let  me  see,  how  long  is  it  since  we  had  a 
wild  orgy  ? "  mused  Hope.  "  Last  May,  wasn't 
it,  Lorraine,  when  you  sold  your  'Cooperative 
Mortgage,'  and  Bess,  her  'Boy  Fishing,'  on  the 
same  day  ?  I  wanted  to  make  them  an  eel  pie, 
Miss  Brent.  You  know  Sterne  said  he  liked 
nothing  else  so  well,  because  you  get  so  much 
for  your  money.  But  they  insisted  on  a  tea- 
bone,  such  a  wasteful  steak,  and  apple  pie. 
Now  do  you  think  geniuses  ought  to  eat  pie  ?" 

"Certainly  not,"  laughed  Miss  Brent,  "though 
Goldsmith  said  rebellion  would  be  impossible 
if  there  were  veal  pie  and  whisky  in  every  man's 
house.  Raphael  and  Correggio  are  my  favor- 
ites; they  were  vegetarians;  and  Murillo  said 
a  man  couldn't  live  on  coarse  food  and  have 
the  soul  of  an  artist.  But  then,  on  the  other 
40 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

hand,  Schubert  was  given  to  consuming  quan- 
tities of  corned  beef  and  cabbage.  Fancy  writ- 
ing that  Serenade  after  a  boiled  dinner;  and 
Beethoven  was  addicted  to  pumpernickel  and 
ivienerwurst.  But  all  this  is  preliminary.  I 
didn't  mean  to  write  the  chapter  now,  or  turn 
it  into  a  sermon,  but  Elise  sent  me  down  with 
a  discourse  divided  a  la  all  Gaul;  first  to  pre- 
sent the  cookies,  second  to  say  you  are  wel- 
come to  the  use  of  a  cook-book  compiled  as  a 
result  of  that  ten-franc  experience,  and  third 
to  ask  you  to  *  come  to  the  festal  board  to-night, 
for  bright-eyed  beauty  will  be  there/  This 
does  not  refer  to  Elise  or  me,  but  to  our  Blessed 
Boys  who  are  coming  down  to  have  coffee  with 
us  and  spend  the  evening.  Now,  having  done 
my  best  to  take  your  appetites  away,  I  hope 
you  will  forgive  me  and  be  as  hungry  as  pos- 
sible. Come  a  few  minutes  before  six." 

"Didn't  I  say  she  was  a  fairy  godmother?" 
said  Lorraine  triumphantly,  as  the  old  lady's 
quick  steps  died  away  upon  the  stair. 

"And  now  that  she  has  conjured  up  several 
princes  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  it,"  con- 
cluded Bess. 


VII 

'  I  XHE  evening  was  a  most  enjoyable  one,  as 
they  say  in  the  society  columns.  Promptly 
at  seven  o'clock  the  young  men  from  the  attic 
arrived;  there  were  three  of  them,  Theodore 
Erskine,  as  yet  a  briefless  barrister;  Louis 
Lassalle,  who  had  drifted  from  story  to  play 
writing  ;  and  Paul  Garreck,  who  played  sec- 
ond violin  in  one  of  the  minor  theaters. 
The  fourth  attic  genius,  Karl  Prince,  gener- 
ally called  Prince  Karl,  was  to  come  later. 
He  was  a  student  at  Columbia,  and  had  a 
lecture  on  for  the  first  of  the  evening. 

After  a  little  music  the  conversation  drifted 
naturally  to  the  struggles  of  the  artist,  and  when 
the  girls  told  of  their  difficulties  in  placing 
stories,  Louis  said  quickly,  "  If  you  think  it  is 
hard  to  sell  a  story,  you  ought  to  try  a  play. 
There's  no  comparison." 

"I  don't  see  how  it  can  be  much  worse," 
said  Lorraine,  "except  that  it  takes  more 
stamps." 

42 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

"Oh,  I  do!"  Hope  interrupted.  "Doesn't 
every  leading  lady  want  part  of  it  rewritten, 
and  the  denouement  changed  ?  Doesn't  the 
soubrette  object  to  her  song,  and  the  old  man 
insist  on  a  touch  of  pathos  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Louis,  turning  to  her  ap- 
preciatively, "and  the  leading  man  doesn't  think 
the  strong  scene  suited  to  him,  and  the  villain 
wants  to  know  why  you  haven't  had  him  say, 
'Ha!  I  have  it!'  and  the  man  who  has  been 
hind  legs  in  the  dancing  heifer  of  the  last 
pantomime  is  hurt  if  he  is  asked  to  say,  'My 
lord,  the  carriage  waits;'  and  the  managers! 
they  tell  you  their  sole  aim  in  life  is  to  en- 
courage talent,  but  — .  I  caught  one  of  them 
on  the  stage  one  afternoon  just  after  rehearsal 
and  gave  him  my  scenario.  He  was  very  fa- 
vorably impressed,  and  then  some  one  trotted 
R.  of  c.  and  it  was  all  u.  p.  with  me  simply 
because  he  had  an  umbrella." 

They  all  looked  at  him  interrogatively,  and  he 
went  on:  "Oh,  it's  unlucky!  Another  time  I 
had  a  curtain  raiser  that  just  suited  a  certain 
leading  lady;  her  manager  said  he  knew  she 
would  take  it,  and  sent  me  to  her.  Just  as 

43 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

soon  as  she  saw  the  manuscript  she  nearly 
fainted.  It  was  written  on  manila  paper,  and 
yellow  is  supposed  to  be  a  hoodoo  to  theatrical 
people." 

"Tell  us  some  more,"  said  Hope  breathlessly. 
"I  love  stage  gossip." 

The  young  fellow  colored  warmly.  "  It  would 
be  pleasanter  telling  if  it  wasn't  so  monotonous. 
I've  been  amused  sometimes  at  the  way  these 
actors  love  one  another.  I  had  an  appoint- 
ment with  one  of  them  whose  name  is  pretty 
well  known,  and  incidentally  mentioned  another 
of  the  fraternity  to  whom  I  had  submitted  a 
play.  'Yes,'  she  said  sweetly,  'Violet  is  a 
dear  girl;  I'm  awfully  fond  of  Violet,  —  but 
isn't  she  getting  just  too  fat  for  anything?' 
Later  on,  when  I  saw  Violet,  I  couldn't  resist 
the  temptation  to  get  her  opinion  of  the  other 
lady,  so  I  spoke  of  her  work,  whereupon  the 
second  lady  said,  'Oh,  Mary  is  such  a  clever 
woman!  Don't  you  think  her  Mrs.  Alving 
wonderful  ?  But  isn't  she  a  back-yard  fence 
for  looks!'" 

"Did  either  of  them  take  your  play  ?"  asked 
Hope. 

44 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"No.  I  thought  Violet  was  going  to,  and  I 
had  an  appointment  with  her  manager  and  her 
leading  man  to  meet  us  after  rehearsal.  As 
they  were  going  over  the  play  a  cat  jumped  on 
the  stage,  and  nothing  could  budge  the  lady 
after  that." 

"A  harmless,  necessary  cat,'"  quoted  Hope. 

The  young  fellow  named  Theodore,  but  called 
Ted,  laughed  heartlessly  and  hummed  still  more 
heartlessly,  "'Oh,  I  thought  he  was  a  goner, 
but  the  cat  came  back!'  Was  he  like  the  poor 
cat  i'  the  adage,  according  to  Mark  Twain's 
version,  '  sicklied  o'er  with  care '  ?  Is  the  poor 
creature  dead  now?" 

Louis  joined  in  the  laughter.  "I  don't  want 
to  bring  down  seven  more  years  of  bad  luck," 
he  said.  "No,  the  cat  went  on  his  way  rejoic- 
ing, but  when  Violet  got  stranded  I  felt  it 
was  a  judgment  on  her.  The  cat  was  a  warn- 
ing not  to  reject  my  play." 

"Literature  is  bad  enough,  as  I  know  to  my 
sorrow,"  ventured  Ted,  "but  the  professions 
are  worse.  There  is  a  young  doctor  across  the 
hall  from  me,  and  we  have  frequently  discussed 
the  singular  freedom  from  sickness  and  liti- 

45 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

gation  enjoyed  by  the  people  of  Manhattan. 
We  have  a  wager  as  to  which  of  us  will  suc- 
cumb first,  and  the  one  who  makes  the  first  fee 
is  to  give  a  dinner,  if  the  fee  is  large  enough  to 
pay  for  it.  It  is  awful  when  one  thinks  of  the 
number  of  young  people  who  are  graduated  an- 
nually and  turned  out  to  starve.  We  have  de- 
cided that  starvation  should  be  set  down  among 
the  so-called  natural  deaths  for  professional 
people." 

"Yes,"  said  Lorraine;  "while  the  stamps 
hold  out  to  burn,  the  manuscript  may  not  re- 
turn. At  least  we  can  go  after  the  editor  and 
make  the  welkin  ring  with  the  tramp  of  the 
postman  bringing  back  the  unavailable." 

"I  saw  a  good  thing  and  cut  it  out  the  other 
day,"  laughed  Ted.  "It  is  from  Frank  Leslie's, 
telling  how  they  submitted  their  prospectus 
to  'A  proud  and  Independent  Author,'  who 
rejected  the  same  without  even  one  word  of 
encouragement,  but  only  the  following  (type- 
written) slip: 

"I  regret  that  the  enclosed  is  not  just  suitable 
for  my  purpose.  It  is  accordingly  returned  to  you 
with  the  thanks  of 

THE  AUTHOR. 
46 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

;  *  While  Authors  cannot  hold  themselves  re- 
sponsible for  magazine  advertisements  received 
by  them,  they  will  endeavor  to  return  those  they 
do  not  find  interesting,  if  stamped  and  addressed 
envelopes  are  enclosed  for  that  purpose.' 

"The  article  goes  on  to  say: 

" '  We  will  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  the 
authors  are  joined  together  in  a  conspiracy'  to 
keep  certain  magazines  from  getting  their  names 
before  the  public,  though  sometimes  we  have 
.  reason  to  suspect  that  such  is  the  case;  but  we 
do  claim  that  authors  as  a  rule  are  biased  and 
narrow  and  arbitrary  in  their  judgment  of  maga- 
zines, and  we  have  about  given  up  hope  of 
receiving  justice  or  strictly  impartial  treatment 
at  their  hands.' 

"Now  isn't  that  richness  ?" 

In  the  general  laughter  Miss  Brent  turned 
to  Lorraine.  "My  dear,  what  was  that  stuff 
you  read  me  about  the  'How  to'  articles  in 
the  magazines  ?" 

"Oh,  don't!"  objected  Lorraine;  "it  was  such 
a  personal  thing,  Miss  Brent.  I  don't  mean  I 
wrote  it,  but  I  think  it  would  hit  us  all.  Is 
there  any  one  here  who  has  never  read  a  letter 
beginning,  'We  regret  to  be  obliged  to  re- 
turn—'?" 

47 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Miss  Elise  broke  the  stony  silence.  "I  never 
did,"  she  said;  "but  as  I  never  could  remem- 
ber to  enclose  stamps,  my  manuscripts  never 
came  back." 

"That's  a  new  way  to  prevent  the  return  of 
one's  yarns,"  said  Ted,  "but  let's  have  the 
poem  by  all  means;"  and,  amidst  laughter  and 
applause,  Lorraine  recited  the  following  gem, 
long  since  pasted  in  the  scrap-book  of  every 
aspiring  genius  in  the  literary  field : 

"Now's  the  time  the  bookstore  windows  show  a  most  en- 
gaging lot 

Of  the  'How  to'  books  and  essays  telling  How  and  How 

to  Not  — 
How  to  know  the  purple  Pansy  when  you  meet  it  in  the 

Wood; 

How  to  tell  the  Poison  Toadstool,  when  it  Is  or  Isn't  Good; 
How  to  recognize  a  Sparrow,  Fighting  in  the  Garden  dirt; 
How  to  Pick  out  Proper  Patterns  for  a  Woodland  Walking 

Skirt; 

How  to   feed   the   shining   Goldfish;    How  to   know   the 
Cuckoo's  call; 

How  to  deal  with  Mr.  Burglar  when  you  meet  Him  in  the 
Hall; 

How  to  play  at  Table  Tennis;  How  to  Ping  and  How  to 

Pong; 

How  to  do  artistic  Fretwork;  How  to  Write  a  Funny  Song; 
48 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

How  to  bet  on  Running  Horses,  so  you'll  surely,  surely  Win; 
How  to  walk  Home  in  the  evening  after  Losing  all  your  Tin; 

How  to  Win   a   timid   Maiden,  with   a   Soft   Persuasive 
Coo; 

How  to  make  her  think  she's  got  to  Leave  her  Happy  Home 
for  you  — 

Though  I've  searched  the  bookshop  windows  high  and  low, 
from  morn  till  night, 

I  have  never  yet  discovered  How  to  sell  the  stuff  I  write!" 

"Why  dpesn't  somebody  write  it?"  sighed 
Hope;  while  Ted,  looking  over  the  group,  said 
reflectively:  "There  are  enough  of  us  to  try 
Mark  Twain's  painter  plot.  Don't  you  recol- 
lect it  ?  There  are  the  usual  young  men  study- 
ing art  in  Paris,  with  starvation  staring  them 
in  the  face,  also  as  usual.  They  cannot  help 
seeing  how  much  it  helps  a  genius  to  die,  so 
they  decide  that  the  one  who  does  the  best 
work  must  be  sacrificed.  Don't  be  alarmed. 
They  slay  him  for  publication  only  and  fill  the 
papers  with  stories  of  his  talent  and  his  poverty 
until  Millet  and  Bougereau  are  not  to  be  men- 
tioned in  the  same  day.  This  enables  them  to 
sell  his  pictures  for  enough  to  provide  them 
all  with  ease  and  comfort,  and  whenever  they 
get  a  little  hard  up  they  'discover'  another  of 

49 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

his  immortal  canvases  and  sell  it  for  a  fabu- 
lous sum." 

Lorraine  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  see  how 
we  could  work  that  out  in  literature,"  she  said. 
"Bess  draws  and  paints  too,  but  none  of  the 
rest  of  us  do,  and  I  don't  think  it  would  go 
with  stories,  but  here  is  a  plan  of  mine  - 

Just  then  the  front  door  opened.  "It's 
Prince  Karl,"  said  Miss  Elise;  "bring  him  in, 
Teddy,  before  Lorraine  tells  her  stratagem  for 
beguiling  the  unwary  publisher." 

The  young  fellow  who  came  in  was  younger 
than  most  of  the  others,  barely  twenty,  and, 
without  being  in  the  least  handsome,  there  was 
something  so  fine  about  his  bearing  and  so 
noble  in  his  face  that  one  understood  why  it 
seemed  natural  to  call  him  Prince  Karl.  After 
the  introductions,  Miss  Brent  explained,  and 
Lorraine  continued: 

"I  want  to  form  an  authors'  conspiracy;  let 
us  agree  on  some  plot  that  has  enough  merits 
so  that  we  can  each  work  it  out  in  our  own 
way.  Bess  can  illustrate  for  all  of  us,  and 
when  the  stories  are  done  send  them  to  the 
same  editor.  He  might  take  one  of  them,  and 
50 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

in  that  way  we  would  find  out,  by  sending 
them  to  different  editors  as  fast  as  they  came 
back,  the  kind  of  story  that  is  likely  to  be 
available." 

"I'd  like  that,"  said  the  newcomer  eagerly; 
"and  I  heard  a  story  the  other  night  that  I 
think  would  give  a  fine  subject.  There  was  a 
man  who  was  determined  to  commit  suicide; 
he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  life  wasn't 
worth  living;  he  was  the  last  of  his  family,  in 
poor  health  and  with  not  much  money.  Just 
as  he  was  buying  the  poison  a  chance  came  for 
him  to  practically  give  up  his  life;  never  mind 
how,  but  it  seems  to  me  there  might  be  a  lot 
made  out  of  that  situation.  He  must  give  or 
be  willing  to  give  his  life  away.  Would  that 
do,  Miss  Lorraine?" 

"Splendidly,"  she  answered;  but  Bess  shiv- 
ered. 

"I  don't  want  to  illustrate  your  stories!" 
she  said. 

"It  is  a  bit  gruesome,"  said  Louis. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  answered  Lorraine. 
"Death  doesn't  seem  any  more  tragic  than  life. 
Do  you  think  it  is,  Miss  Brent  ?" 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

The  old  lady  readjusted  her  glasses.  "I 
confess,"  she  said  slowly,  "that  death  doesn't 
strike  me  as  particularly  cheerful.  Maybe  you 
could  make  it  so  in  fiction.  I've  often  won- 
dered how  we  would  go  if  we  had  our  choice. 
What  would  you  choose,  Ted  ?" 

"With  the  flag  flying  and  the  bugle  call 
sounding,"  he  answered  without  a  moment's 
hesitation. 

"And  you,  Paul?" 

"Like  Mirabeau,  to  the  sound  of  exquisite 
music." 

Louis  shook  his  head.  "I'm  frankly  a 
coward,"  he  said.  "I  don't  like  even  thinking 
of  it.  If  I  can't  slip  away  in  my  sleep  I'd 
rather  go  with  some  one  I  loved  in  some  para- 
lyzing disaster,  flood  or  earthquake." 

"Hope?" 

"Oh,  not  that  way,"  she  said  dreamily;  "but 
on  a  May  morning  in  the  country,  with  the 
scent  of  the  clover  fields  coming  through  the 
open  window,  and  the  song  of  the  meadow  lark 
and  all  the  sense  of  the  renewal  of  life." 

Karl  smiled.  "Death  ought  to  be  a  conflict," 
he  said.  "I  don't  believe  in  dying  till  one  has 
52 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

to,  unless  one  dies  for  something.  Then  it 
wouldn't  make  much  difference.  I  don't  want 
to  'easy  live  and  quiet  die.'  Guillotine  or  rifle 
shot,  flood  or  flame,  so  one  dies  for  a  cause 
or  to  save  some  one  else,  —  it's  all  the  same  to 
me." 

Miss  Brent  turned  to  Bess,  who  held  her  hand 
and  drew  closer  to  her.  "Like  Louis,"  she 
whispered,  "Mr.  Lassalle,  I  mean,  with  some 
one  I  loved." 

The  old  lady  patted  her  shoulder.  "Well, 
Lorraine,  I  begin  to  see  infinite  possibili- 
ties in  your  plan.  How  are  you  going  to 
meet  the  grizzly  monster,  if  you  have  a  choice 
in  the  matter?"  While  she  spoke  lightly  there 
was  an  undercurrent  of  feeling  in  her  voice  that 
did  not  escape  Lorraine's  sharp  intuitions. 

"Any  way  that  is  quick,"  she  answered.  "I 
am  a  coward  about  pain,  but  I  don't  dread 
death,  and  sometimes  I  rather  like  to  look 
forward  to  it,  just  as  I  do  to  coming  home, 
now  we  have  a  home  to  come  to.  It  is  the  door 
to  happiness  and  peace,  where  those  we  love 
are  waiting  for  us;  why  should  one  dread  it? 
You'll  see  before  the  stories  are  done." 

53 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

There  was  a  general  agreement,  and  then 
the  little  party  broke  up,  the  Blessed  Boys  as- 
cending to  their  eyrie  and  the  God-given  ones 
to  their  burrow,  while  the  Heavenly  Twins  laid 
heavy  wagers  as  to  who  would  have  the  best 
story  in  the  contest,  and  laughed  again  over 
the  jests  of  the  evening  and  then  slept  the  sleep 
of  the  just. 


54 


VIII 

"HVO  or  three  weeks  later  as  Lorraine,  who 

had  been  taken  back  on  the  paper,  was 

hurrying  home  through  the  gathering  darkness, 

she  heard  quick  steps  behind  her  that  seemed 

familiar. 

"Can  I  be  a  friend  in  need?"  asked  the 
boy  called  Prince  Karl,  taking  her  umbrella 
and  substituting  his  more  ample  one.  "It's 
a  miserable  night  and  we  go  the  same 
way." 

Lorraine  gave  up  her  packages  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  and  Karl  stowed  them  away  in  his 
capacious  overcoat.  Then  she  tucked  her  hand 
under  his  arm  and  they  went  on.  "I  seem  to 
be  the  friend  in  need,"  she  laughed.  "I  need 
everything,  beginning  with  pockets.  Have  you 
done  your  euthanasia  story  yet  ?" 

"I'm  glad  of  a  chance  to  talk  to  you  about  it," 
he  said,  "for  it  isn't  turning  out  as  I  planned 
at  all.  I  believe  I  have  a  story,  but  I  can't 
seem  to  lay  hold  of  it." 

55 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"That  sounds  as  if  it  were  alive,"  she  said 
encouragingly.  "A  real  story  is  apt  to  develop 
characteristics  of  its  own,  and  go  off  on  tan- 
gents the  author  never  thought  of  when  he 
began  it.  Can't  you  come  down  and  read  it 
to  me  ?" 

"I'm  afraid  of  the  others,"  he  answered  with 
boyish  shyness. 

"Bess  is  going  to  an  art  lecture  with  Ted. 
By  the  way,  has  he  always  been  deeply  inter- 
ested in  art  ?  And  Hope  is  going  to  rehearse 
something  with  Louis  and  Paul  in  Miss  Brent's 
parlor,  so  we  shall  have  the  coast  to  ourselves. 
I'd  like  to  have  you  read  it  to  me;  it  makes  me 
feel  so  vain  and  self-important!" 

As  they  turned  into  the  infinitesimal  front 
yard,  she  said  impulsively:  "Come  down  and 
have  supper  with  us.  There's  plenty,  for  I'm 
at  work  again  and  Hope  has  sold  a  serial  and 
Bess  has  some  illustrating.  I'm  writing  up 
'  Men  Who  Carry  Their  Wards.'  Coming  from 
Denver  I  know  a  ward  from  a  precinct  and 
the  relation  of  a  caucus  to  a  primary,  which  is  a 
source  of  never-ending  amusement  to  the  city 
editor.  Do  come;  the  girls  will  be  delighted." 
56 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

They  went  into  the  basement  hallway  and 
turned  in  at  the  door  of  the  room  that  served 
as  a  workshop  and  laid  aside  their  wet  things, 
and  then  Karl  was  ushered  into  the  kitchen- 
dining-room  combination.  Bess  was  cracking 
the  crisp  baked  potatoes  as  she  heaped  them 
on  the  platter;  there  was  a  jar  of  steaming 
baked  apples,  and  Hope  was  beating  the  eggs 
for  the  omelet.  It  was  a  jolly  supper,  and  when 
it  was  over  Lorraine,  who  by  virtue  of  her 
quarter  of  a  century  posed  as  a  venerable 
person,  despatched  Bess  to  her  lecture  and 
Hope  to  her  play,  while  she  washed  the  dishes 
and  Karl  dried  them.  Already  she  had  grown 
fond  of  the  household;  they  were  all  dear  and 
different  —  perhaps  Prince  Karl  was  the  most 
different. 

As  he  sat  reading  by  the  drop-light  while 
Lorraine  rested  in  the  cozy  corner,  she  watched 
his  fine,  clearly  cut  face,  full  of  enthusiasm, 
with  his  whole  soul  in  the  story  he  was  reading 
to  her.  As  he  went  on,  Lorraine  put  the  pil- 
lows away  and  sat  up  very  straight.  When  he 
finished  and  looked  up  for  her  verdict,  she  was 
leaning  towards  him  with  shining  eyes.  "You 

57 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

mustn't  try  to  make  a  short  story  of  that," 
she  said  eagerly.  "No  wonder  it  rebels  and 
refuses  to  be  cut  down  to  fit  your  Procrustean 
requirements.  You  must  make  a  novel  of  it, 
and  it  will  be  a  great  one." 

He  looked  at  her  incredulously.  "A  book, 
—  why,  I  couldn't  write  a  book,"  he  said. 

"But  you  can,  you  have,  you  are  going  to," 
she  cried  delightedly.  "Out  West  before  I 
came  here  to  burn  up  the  East  River  I  used 
to  do  reviews,  and  even  if  I  can't  make  litera- 
ture myself  I  know  it  when  I  hear  it,  and  that's 
a  great  story.  There  are  plenty  of  ways  to 
elaborate  the  suicide  idea  in  a  repellent  or 
commonplace  manner,  but  your  hero  comes 
out  of  the  shadows  and  makes  of  death  a 
shining  mark,  and  his  exit  is  splendid.  There 
are  situations  that  transcend  mere  tragedy." 
She  paused  as  if  ransacking  her  brain  for  an 
illustration,  and  he  waited  silently.  Finally  she 
went  on:  "Hugo  wrote  the  greatest  suicide 
stories  that  I  know  of;  we  don't  think  of  them 
that  way  because  they  are  so  much  beside,  but 
his  heroes  generally  take  suicidal  risks  or  de- 
liberately commit  suicide.  You  think  I  am 
58 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

mistaken,  don't  you  ?  In  '  The  Toilers  of  the 
Sea'  the  hero  goes  to  the  great  chair-like  rock 
and  waits  for  the  tide  to  cover  him.  In  'The 
Man  who  Laughs'  Gwynplaine  walks  off  the 
deck  of  the  vessel  into  the  sea.  In  'Ninety- 
three'  the  old  count  returns  to  rescue  the 
children  from  the  tower  when  it  means  certain 
capture  and  death,  and  is  released  by  his 
nephew  who  takes  his  place  under  the  guillotine 
the  next  morning,  while  his  friend  who  has 
voted  for  his  execution  shoots  himself  as  the 
knife  falls.  And  Javert — after  his  life  has  been 
saved  by  Jean  Valjean,  and  he  learns  that  the 
ex-galley-slave  has  rescued  Marius  at  the  barri- 
cades and  carried  him  through  the  Great  Sewer, 
—  unable  to  fulfil  his  duty  by  arresting  Jean 
Valjean,  kills  himself.  Every  one  of  these  cases 
possesses  the  elements  of  the  highest  tragedy,  but 
those  in  which  the  cause  of  the  action  is  merely 
a  personal  equation  do  not  compare  with  the 
others  in  grandeur.  Gauvain  is  infinitely  finer 
than  his  friend,  Gavroche  than  Gwynplaine. 
Just  as  life  'persists,'  as  the  doctors  say,  even 
when  there  is  no  health  in  us,  so  there  is  some- 
thing in  our  nature  that  revolts  against  the  idea 

59 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

of  dying  for  nothing.  One  may  die  for  his 
country  or  for  a  belief  or  for  another,  and  go 
down  to  his  long  rest  justified.  Hugo  showed 
that  he  could  be  the  heroic  as  well  as  write  it 
when  he  published  the  book  that  sent  him  into 
exile,  the  old  Roman  alternative  for  death.  The 
charge  of  the  Light  Brigade  was  magnificent, 
but  it  wasn't  war;  Leonidas  and  his  three 
hundred  achieved  immortality  without  an  in- 
terposing blunder.  Thermopylae  was  magnifi- 
cent, but  it  was  war  too.  There  are  no  more 
splendid  suicides  in  history  than  these,  yet  are 
they  to  be  compared  with  the  awful  heroism 
of  Father  Damien  going  to  Molakai  to  live  and 
die  with  the  lepers  there  ?  Courage  like  that 
makes  the  greatest  soldier  that  ever  lived  a 
mere  gladiator  in  comparison.  Don't  you  see  ? 
Your  story  has  this  finer  quality  and  plot  and 
imagination  - 

"But  I  haven't  any  style,"  he  said,  still 
unconvinced. 

"Never  mind  about  that,"  she  answered. 
"Style,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  is  like 
the  top  step  that  one  misses  in  the  dark  be- 
cause it  isn't  there.  Doesn't  it  seem  foolish  to 
60  / 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

read  directions  to  read  Addison  or  Stevenson 
or  Ruskin  to  improve  one's  style  ?  Read  them 
for  a  lesson  in  the  use  of  words,  for  artistic 
proportion,  for  pleasure,  and  then  write  your 
own  story  in  your  own  way,  and  if  you  succeed 
in  saying  what  you  want  to  say,  you  have 
found  the  style  you  had  to  have  for  that  par- 
ticular story.  But  hurry,  hurry!  I  do  so  want 
to  know  a  successful  author,  and  think  of  the 
fun  we  shall  have  reading  the  reviews!" 

"I'm  afraid  even  to  think  of  them,"  he  said. 
"Do  the  critics  read  the  books  they  review  ?" 

"Yes,  generally.  When  you  think  of  what 
is  expected  of  most  of  them  I  wonder  they  are 
as  lenient  as  they  are.  Very  few  of  them  are 
as  gentle  as  Bryant;  you  know,  when  the  book 
was  impossible,  or  should  have  been,  he  used 
sometimes  to  say,  *  but  the  cover  is  very  pretty.' 
Just  try  reading  a  book  a  day  and  you'll  have 
lots  of  sympathy  for  the  critics.  Besides,  one 
doesn't  have  to  read  the  whole  of  a  story  to- 
know  whether  the  author  can  write  English, 
is  ordinarily  painstaking,  and  has  a  publisher 
who  knows  something  of  typographical  beauty. 
Once  I  reviewed  a  story  that  was  accounted 

61 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

one  of  the  season's  successes,  and  yet,  after 
describing  the  arrival  of  a  carriage-load  of 
people  at  a  country  inn  during  a  pouring  rain, 
with  roads  almost  impassable  with  mud,  his 
heroine  trips  lightly  down  the  same  road  the 
next  morning  and  meets  the  villain  who,  after 
staring  her  out  of  countenance,  drives  on  'en- 
veloped in  a  cloud  of  dust.'  A  thing  like  that 
prejudices  the  reviewer." 

"I  should  think  it  would,"  answered  the 
boy,  "  but  it  doesn't  seem  as  if  any  one 
could  make  such  a  mistake  if  he  re-read  the 
story." 

"It  doesn't  follow.  Homer  nods  sometimes, 
you  know.  Who  was  the  Chicago  girl  who 
wrote  the  viking  story  a  few  years  ago  ?  It  was 
gorgeously  gotten  up,  and  in  the  advance  no- 
tices it  was  said  the  young  lady  had  spent 
several  years  studying  Norse  customs,  yet  she 
draped  her  viking  halls  in  black  velvet.  How- 
ever, when  Richard  Hovey  dressed  his  Round 
Table  people  in  the  same  fabric,  she  might  be 
forgiven." 

"Was  that  wrong?"  he  asked.  "I  never 
thought  anything  about  that  sort  of  thing." 

62 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"Yes,  because  velvet  wasn't  made  until  a 
good  many  centuries  later.  According  to  crit- 
ics one  must  be  'convincing'  -  -what  is  it  Van 
Dyke  says  about  seeing  the  local  color  without 
being  blind  to  the  inner  light  ?  The  local  color 
should  not  be  laid  on  with  a  trowel,  so  thick 
that  the  inner  light  can't  shine  through,  and  if 
it  is  one  of  the  strong  features  of  the  story  it 
should  be  correct.  Otherwise  it  can't  be  con- 
vincing. The  author  who  has  a  pleasure  party 
drive  to  Cheyenne  Mountain  and  over  Marshal 
Pass  the  same  afternoon  may  be  a  master  of 
English,  but  he  has  something  to  learn  of 
Colorado  distances." 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  make  my  story  con- 
vincing," he  said,  still  doubtful.  "The  very 
heart  of  it  is  a  legend,  a  myth,  something  that 
couldn't  happen." 

"That  may  be,  but  nevertheless  you  have 
made  it  real;  you  have  made  it  seem  as  if  it 
could  happen.  Now,  Henry  James  could  take 
the  legend  of  Mary's  little  lamb  and  make  it 
seem  as  if  it  couldn't  happen.  That's  the  other 
kind  of  genius.  But  go  on  with  it  while  the 
spirit  moves  you.  There's  many  a  cake  that 

63 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

remains  dough  for  the  lack  of  turning  at  the 
right  time!" 

The  boy  thanked  her,  and,  gathering  up  his 
manuscript,  ascended  to  the  attic  to  go  to 
work  with  renewed  vigor  and  a  great  burning 
of  the  midnight  gas. 


64 


IX 


*T'M  glad  we're  well  insured,"  said  Miss 
Elise.  "  Emmy,  this  house  fairly  coruscates; 
genius  to  left  of  us,  genius  to  right  of  us  — 

"Geniuses  in  front  of  us  volleyed  and  thun- 
dered," added  Miss  Brent,  as  the  sound  of  a 
dramatic  climax  and  the  wild  screech  of  a  violin 
were  drowned  in  a  burst  of  laughter. 

"I  wonder  if  they'd  mind  an  audience?" 
said  Miss  Elise.  "Karl  is  trying  his  new  story 
on  Lorraine;  Bess  and  Ted  have  gone  some- 
where; and  I  pine  to  do  something  wild  and 
riotous  and  exciting.  Let's  go  hear  Louis' 
play." 

"Maybe  they  won't  want  us,"  said  Miss 
Emma. 

"I'll  ask  them,"  said  Miss  Elise  bravely;  but 
there  was  no  need,  for  Paul  was  already  at  the 
door,  with  his  beloved  violin  tucked  under  his 
arm,  requesting  their  attendance. 

"We  want  an  umpire,"  he  said.  "The  man- 
ager and  the  star  have  reached  a  deadlock 

65 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

over  a  piece  of  business;  I  agree  with  the 
star,  but  the  manager  says  the  orchestra  has 
no  business  to  have  opinions,  so  we'd  like  to 
have  you  come  and  decide  for  us." 

The  audience,  pleased  and  excited,  took  the 
box  seats  on  the  sofa,  the  orchestra  struck  up, 
and  the  little  play  progressed  to  its  tragic  con- 
clusion, —  for  does  not  youth  always  love 
tragedy  ? 

The  plot  was  simple, —  the  old  story  of  the 
lover  who  loves  and  rides  away;  they  are  both 
players;  the  deserted  woman  returns  to  their  lit- 
tle garret  home  to  find  the  sunshine  gone,  and  a 
cold  brief  note  that  leaves  no  doubt  of  her  fate. 
Five  years  later,  the  player  has  made  a  Parisian 
success  —  when  in  doubt  of  the  entire  moral- 
ity of  anything  set  it  in  Paris  —  and  the  for- 
gotten woman  reappears,  asking  for  an  engage- 
ment in  his  company.  She  meets  the  star. 
"Can  you  act  ?"  he  asks,  "do  you  dance  ?  Pos- 
sibly you  sing?"  In  her  poverty  and  distress 
he  fails  to  recognize  the  girl  he  has  betrayed 
and  left  behind;  spurred  by  the  memory  of 
her  love  and  her  sorrow,  she  answers  by  pro- 
posing a  pantomime.  Quickly  she  suggests  her 
66 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

stage  setting,  and  then  portrays  the  return  of 
the  young  woman,  as  she  comes  singing  into 
the  room,  and  bends  over  the  cradle,  cooing  to 
her  little  one.  Then,  still  talking  to  the  baby, 
she  lays  the  cloth  as  if  to  prepare  the  supper, 
and  going  to  the  chiffonier  finds  the  letter  that 
tells  her  the  end  of  all  her  hopes  and  dreams 
has  come. 

Up  to  this  time  the  man  has  been  an  inter- 
ested spectator;  then  memory  asserts  itself  and 
conscience  dashes  the  scales  from  his  eyes.  It 
was  at  this  point  that  the  author  of  the  play 
and  his  leading  lady  hopelessly  differed.  There 
was  a  stage  fall,  and  Louis  insisted  that  the 

O  * 

first  thought  of  the  young  mother  would  be  for 
her  child,  all  she  had  left  in  the  world,  and  that 
she  should  fall  with  her  arms  outstretched 
across  the  cradle,  while  the  false  lover  starts 
toward  her  in  conscience-stricken  grief. 

Hope  scouted  the  idea.  "It  is  too  soon/' 
she  said.  "She  has  forgotten  the  very  exist- 
ence of  the  child,  everything  in  the  world  except 
the  one  ereat,  overwhelming  loss  that  has  left 

o  *  o 

the  world  a  blank,  striking  her  dumb  and  para- 
lyzing her  brain." 

67 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"  But  wouldn't  she  turn  to  her  child  ?  She  is 
a  mother  as  well  as  a  wife,"  insisted  Louis; 
"it  seems  to  me  the  natural  thing  would  be  for 
her  to  cling  to  what  she  had  left." 

"No,"  said  Hope  stubbornly,  "not  a  young 
woman,  who  loves  with  all  the  first  fervor  and 
passion  of  her  nature;  perhaps  an  older  woman, 
with  three  or  four  children,  might  think  of  them 
first,  for  it  would  be  a  common  grief  and  shame 
that  they  must  share,  but  not  a  young  girl 
to  whom,  even  yet,  the  child  is  a  kind  of  a 
marvel,  dearer  because  of  its  father  than  of 
itself.  Moreover,  you  must  remember  that  this 
woman  is  playing  her  life;  she  is  asking  for  her 
place  in  his  heart,  not  for  a  place  in  his  troupe. 
The  appeal  must  be  direct;  nothing  can  come 
between.  She  ought  actually  to  faint;  that  can- 
not be  a  part  of  her  play,  but  the  culmination 
of  her  soul's  tragedy." 

Still  Louis  remained  half-unconvinced.  "I 
don't  believe  a  woman  can  forget  her  child," 
he  said;  "and  wouldn't  the  child  itself  con- 
stitute the  strongest  claim  she  could  make 
upon  the  man  ?  Don't  you  think  so,  Miss 
Elise?" 

68 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"No,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head;  "I  believe 
Hope  is  right,  but  I  can  give  you  better  author- 
ity than  either  of  us.  Don't  you  remember 
Tennyson's  poem  ? 

'Home  they  brought  her  warrior  dead: 

She  nor  swoon'd,  nor  utter'd  cry: 
All  her  maidens,  watching,  said, 
"She  must  weep  or  she  will  die."  ' 

She  never  thinks  of  the  child  until 

'  Rose  a  nurse  of  ninety  years, 

Set  his  child  upon  her  knee  — 
Like  summer  tempest  came  her  tears  — 
"Sweet  my  child,  I  live  for  thee.'" 

"I  surrender,"  said  Louis;  "I'm  not  only 
outnumbered,  but  outclassed.  I  don't  know  as 
much  about  women  as  Tennyson  did,  or  about 
anything  else,  for  that  matter.  Shall  we  go 
on?" 

The  players  took  their  places  again,  the 
audience  settled  back  on  the  sofa,  and  Paul 
took  up  the  score,  playing  very  softly  the  old 
tune  of  "The  Mill-Wheel."  One  could  almost 
hear  the  words: 

"  For  she  I  love  is  faithless, 
And  broken  is  the  ring." 
69 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

The  little  scene  of  the  finding  of  the  letter 
was  well  played,  and  then,  as  if  it  took  some 
time  for  her  to  grasp  the  dreadful  truth,  she 
stood,  holding  the  letter,  then  fell  slowly,  in- 
ertly. 

The  sisters  and  the  orchestra  and  the  author 
applauded  wildly,  then  the  sisters  looked  at 
each  other. 

"Yes,  it  does  remind  me — "  said  Miss  Emma, 
and  stopped 

"Of  Mary  Anderson's  fall  in  'A  Winter's 
Tale,'"  completed  Miss  Elise. 

They  had  all  adjourned  to  the  study  and  were 
gathered  about  the  fireplace.  "Tell  us  about 
it,"  said  Louis. 

"Oh,  it  was  years  ago;  she  was  playing 
Hermione,  a  wonderful,  statuesque  Hermione. 
It  was  after  the  king  has  refused  to  believe  the 
oracle,  in  the  trial  scene,  and  the  servant  comes 
in  to  tell  the  death  of  their  son.  It  was  the  last 
drop  in  her  cup  of  bitterness.  She  raised  her 
arm,  veiled  her  face,  and  seemed  to  melt  and 
fall  like  a  snow  image,  so  slowly,  so  quietly. 
But  you  are  too  young  ever  to  have  seen  that," 
concluded  Miss  Elise. 

70 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"My  mother  saw  it,"  said  Hope.  "She  said 
it  was  the  most  effective  fall  she  had  ever  seen 
to  portray  a  psychological  grief.  She  taught 
me  how  to  do  it.  Of  course  it  would  not  fit 
many  scenes." 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Miss  Emma,  "you  play 
wonderfully  well  ?  If  Louis  could  always  be 
certain  of  so  sympathetic  an  interpreter  he 
need  not  wait  long  for  success.  Have  you  ever 
thought  of  going  on  the  stage  ?" 

"You  ought  to,"  added  Louis. 

"I  never  used  to  think  of  anything  else, 
—  till  my  mother  died,"  the  girl  answered. 
"  Maybe  you  have  seen  her,  Miss  Brent  ?  She 
was  Rose  Farron." 

"Of  course  we've  seen  her!"  exclaimed  both 
the  old  ladies.  Then  simultaneously,  "Can  you 
ever  forget  her  Peg  Woffington,  Emmy  ? "  "  Did- 
n't she  break  your  heart  as  Camille,  Elise?" 

Hope  sighed.  "I  think  she  was  very  good," 
she  said,  "but  I  never  saw  her  on  the  stage. 
When  she  married  she  retired,  and  my  father 
was  jealous  of  the  old  life.  I  am  afraid  they 
were  not  always  happy,  for  sometimes  she  longed 
to  go  back;  I  was  born  with  that  longing  in 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

my  blood.  We  lived  in  a  big,  rambling  farm- 
house, and  she  made  a  companion  of  me,  and 
we  'play-acted'  up  in  the  garret,  everything  she 
could  find  that  had  a  child  in  it, —  scraps  and 
scenes  from  'Odette,'  'Miss  Multon,'  'Jane 
Eyre,'  'Richard  Third.'  I  remember  how  I 
used  to  struggle  with  Arthur's  appeal  to  Hubert; 
it  was  so  real  that  it  almost  gave  me  hysterics, 
so  after  that  she  made  little  plays  from  fairy 
stories,  and  we  were  happy,  so  happy !  She 
set  me  reading  and  learning  plays.  I  knew 
most  of  ' Hamlet '  and  'Much  Ado'  and  'Romeo 
and  Juliet'  and  'Richard'  by  heart  when  I  was 
twelve.  Then  the  other  two  babies  came,  and 
when  I  was  sixteen  she  died,  and  I  had  to  take 
care  of  the  children.  I  used  to  act  and  recite 
for  them,  but  that  was  the  end  of  my  hopes  and 
plans."  She  stopped,  lost  in  memories  both 
sweet  and  bitter.  "Then  my  father  married 
again;  my  stepmother  didn't  mind  the  little 
children,  but  a  grown  stepdaughter  was  in  the 
way  and  —  we  didn't  agree  about  the  cooking. 
I  hate  salt-rising  bread!"  snapped  Hope,  with 
the  vindictive  force  of  a  sudden  hateful  memory. 
"So  I  came  to  New  York,  with  my  mother's 
72 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

books,  her  old  plays,  her  clothes,  and  a  few 
hundred  dollars,  and  nothing  else." 

"And  couldn't  you  find  any  company  that 
suited  you?"  asked  Miss  Brent. 

"Any  of  them  would  have  suited  me,  but 
remember,  I  had  no  experience;  I'd  never  seen 
twenty  plays  in  my  life.  I  had  no  acquaintance 
with  theater  people,  no  money,  no  influence. 
I  wasn't  even  beautiful,  nor  young,  not  to 
begin  stage  work  at  least." 

"But  you  have  talent,"  said  Miss  Elise.  "I 
should  have  thought  they  would  have  been  glad 
to  have  you." 

"There  are  hundreds  of  girls  already  on  the 
stage  who  have  not  only  talent,  but  a  fairly 
good  idea  of  stage  business,"  answered  Hope. 
'They  know  how  to  make  their  exits  and  their 
entrances;  why  should  a  manager  pass  them 
by  to  take  up  an  utterly  unknown  quantity  ? 
I  had  written  for  the  local  papers,  and  sold  a 
few  stories  and  magazine  articles.  I  had  an 
introduction  to  the  editor  of  a  Sunday-school 
paper  from  our  rector,  and  I  made  enough 
writing  short  stones  and  serials  to  keep  me 
alive.  That  was  where  I  met  Bess.  She  was 

73 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

furnishing  puzzle  pictures  for  it.  One  night 
while  I  was  waiting  for  my  bowl  of  bread  and 
milk  and  correcting  proofs  on  the  restaurant 
table,  Lorraine  came  in  and  sat  opposite  me. 
Presently  she  took  out  a  roll  of  copy  and  began 
revising  it,  and  so  we  fell  to  talking,  and  pres- 
ently when  her  order  came  she  made  me  share 
with  her,  and  nothing  will  ever  taste  so  good 
again  as  that  sirloin.  We  used  often  to  meet 
after  that.  Sometimes  I  paid  for  the  steak  and 
sometimes  she  did  and  sometimes  we  had  hash, 
and  finally  we  went  to  housekeeping,  and  then 
we  took  Bess  in,  and  so  we  went  along  until 
you  found  us." 

"But  why  don't  you  try  now?"  Louis  and 
Paul  asked  in  the  same  breath. 

Hope  shook  her  head.  "It's  too  late.  I 
don't  want  to  add  one  more  to  the  list  of  those 
who  make  a  living  by  acting  just  as  they  might 
by  plain  sewing  or  bookkeeping.  I  have  gone 
to  the  theater  whenever  I  could  spare  the  money. 
I  sat  in  the  cheap  seats,  but  as  I  forgot  every- 
thing after  the  curtain  went  up  it  was  not  such 
a  hardship  to  me  as  it  would  be  to  you.  With 
my  feeling  about  the  stage,  its  fineness  and 

74 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

dignity  and  mission,  it  seems  presumption  for 
me  to  think  of  it,  for  I  wouldn't  want  to  act 
unless  I  could  do  really  good  work;  it  is  a 
vocation,  not  an  avocation." 

"Have  you  ever  thought  what  kind  of  a  part 
you'd  like  to  play  best?"  asked  Miss  Brent. 

"Yes,  but  it  wasn't  always  the  same.  When 
I  saw  Mansfield's  Richard  Third  I  thought  how 
when  Garrick  played  the  part  'the  ladies  ex- 
pressed themselves  almost  in  love  with  Richard,' 
but  I  have  never  seen  a  possible  Anne.  She  is 
always  played  as  a  vain,  frivolous,  foolish 
woman.  My  idea  of  that  part  would  be  taken 
from  her  first  speech  to  Richard,  —  'Mortal 
eyes  cannot  endure  the  devil,'  —  and  I  would 
have  her  play  it  as  if  she  were  under  a  spell, 
something  like  Blanche  Walsh's  famous  scene 
in  'Aristocracy.'  Hypnotism  is  a  new  word, 
but  the  thing  itself  is  old,  and  Gloucester  cannot 
account  for  his  power  even  by  'the  aid  of  the 
plain  devil,  and  dissembling  looks.'  But  I 
didn't  mean  to  take  the  center  of  the  stage  and 
hold  it  all  this  time.  Miss  Brent,  you  look  as 
if  you  would  say,  'My  soul  is  heavy  and  I  fain 
would  sleep/  so,  as  I  still  have  'some  certain 

75 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

dregs  of  conscience  yet  within  me,'  I'll  say 
good  night." 

"Well,  'God  bless  thee,  and  take  meekness 
out  of  thy  breast,"1  responded  Miss  Brent. 
"What  you  need  is  some  wholesome  vanity  and 
a  press  agent." 

So  the  party  broke  up. 

As  Louis  and  Paul  joined  the  boys  upstairs, 
Prince  Karl  was  filling  his  fountain  pen  to 
begin  the  next  chapter,  while  Ted  hung  up  his 
overcoat.  Louis  took  a  jug  of  cider  from  the 
closet  and,  filling  the  glasses,  raised  his  own. 
"Fellows,"  he  said,  "this  house  will  yet  appear 
in  the  limelight." 

"If  anybody  should  ask  you,"  added  Prince 
Karl,  "you  can  say  that  girls  like  those  are 
just  about  out  of  print,  and  it  was  a  small 
edition." 

"And  beautifully  bound,"  said  Ted,  thinking 
of  the  bright-faced  girl  he  had  just  left. 

"  I'll  join  you  in  a  toast  to  all  of  them,"  said 
Paul,  "but  first  and  most  of  all  to  the  oldest 
girls  and  the  jolliest,  here's  to  the  Heavenly 
Twins,  who  have  made  life  worth  living  for  all 
of  us." 

76 


"  TF  ever  there  was  a  story  that  is  an  insult  to 
human  intelligence,"  remarked  Ted  with 
his  most  judicial  and  ipse  dixit  expression,  "it 
is  'The  Honorable  Peter  Sterling." 

It  was  Saturday  night,  and  the  geniuses  were 
gathered  in  the  large  double  parlors. 

"Yes,  I  mean  it,"  he  went  on  as  his  hearers 
looked  at  him  with  doubt  upon  their  faces. 
"It's  all  right  so  far  as  the  dirty  office  is  con- 
cerned, with  the  long  crack  in  the  plaster,  and 
the  dusty  books,  and  the  solitude,  but  when  it 
comes  to  Peter's  worrying  along  and  contriving 
to  pay  his  rent  on  a  paltry  fifteen  hundred  a 
year,  it  makes  me  tired,  not  to  say  disgusted. 
I  don't  believe  half  the  lawyers  in  New  York 
who  have  been  practising  for  ten  years  are  sure 
of  more  of  an  income  than  that.  Just  give  me 
fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  year  and  see  me  come 
splurging  to  the  front!  What  I  want  to  know 
is,  not  how  to  live  on  fifteen  hundred  or  even 
half  that,  but  how  to  get  it  to  live  on." 

77 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

"Or  how  to  live  without  an  income,"  sug- 
gested Louis,  "or  upon  the  outgo." 

"Or  on  the  net  deficit,"  said  Lorraine.  "The 
Honorable  Peter  is  a  bit  like  'The  Duchess' 
heroes  who  barely  subsist  on  three  or  four 
thousand  dollars  a  year.  When  one  considers 
the  number  of  people  who  go  on  from  day  to 
day  doing  their  work,  with  the  wolf  always 
sitting  by  the  kitchen  stove,  like  a  hungry 
house  dog,  it  speaks  well  for  human  nature  that 
they  keep  up  the  fight." 

"Or  very  poorly  for  the  imagination,"  said 
Karl. 

"That  works  both  ways,"  said  Hope  quickly. 
"It  is  the  dread  of  something  after  death  that 
makes  cowards  of  many  of  us,  who  let  I  dare 
not  wait  upon  I  would.  It  is  when  the  imagi- 
nation fails  and  we  can  think  of  no  evils  worse 
than  those  we  already  endure  that  resolution 
retains  its  native  hue.  It  is  when  we  believe 
no  dreams  can  come  so  fearful  as  the  reality, 
that  we  are  willing  and  ready  to  end  the  heart- 
ache and  the  troubles  that  make  long  life  a 
calamity." 

"How  about  those  euthanasia  stories  ?"  asked 
78 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Miss  Brent.  "How  many  of  you  have  finished 
yours  ?  When  does  the  competition  close  ? 
What,  only  two  of  you  ?  Ted,  what  excuse 
have  you  to  offer  ?  If  you  knew  the  Grand 
Prix  Elise  and  I  are  going  to  bestow  upon  the 
victor  you'd  not  be  so  dilatory." 

"I  can't  write  it,"  answered  Ted.  "I've 
tried  to  make  a  brief  for  the  defendant,  but 
before  I  reach  the  argument  I  always  find  my- 
self going  over  to  the  prosecution.  We  ought 
to  fight  it  out.  I've  no  use  for  a  man  who  tries 
to  dodge.  I  can't  make  a  hero  out  of  that  kind 
of  a  fellow." 

Lorraine  laughed.  "  Let  us  hope  you'll  never 
be  assigned  to  defend  some  unfortunate,  rashly 
importunate,  who  has  run  counter  to  the  laws 
of  this  state.  But  if  you  remember  Karl's 
plan,  the  hero  does  not  actually  take  his  life; 
he  gives  it  away,  and  does  not  even  necessarily 
lose  it,  save  so  far  as  his  own  initiative  is  con- 
cerned. Neither  is  it  necessary  to  regard  him 
as  a  hero.  The  man  who  can't  screw  his  cour- 
age to  the  sticking  point  is  just  as  available 
for  our  purposes  as  the  one  who  can.  Wouldn't 
it  have  been  more  heroic  for  Dr.  Jekyll  to  have 

79 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

made  his  own  quietus  than  to  wait  for  Hyde 
to  murder  him  ?" 

"You  never  can  make  a  lawyer  see  it,"  said 
Karl.  "He  always  has  a  picture  of  the  corpse 
with  a  stake  through  the  body  buried  at  the 
crossroads,  and  his  family  disgraced,  according 
to  old  English  law.  Yet  the  Romans,  from 
whom  we  derived  our  law  originally,  always 
recognized  the  right  of  a  citizen  to  dispose  of 
his  life  as  he  saw  fit.  In  fact,  if  a  man  was 
under  sentence  of  death  his  only  escape  from 
disgrace  lay  in  being  his  own  executioner.  In 
that  case  he  had  an  honorable  burial  and  could 
will  away  his  property.  If  he  waited  for  the 
law  to  take  its  course,  his  children  were  dis- 
inherited, and  his  body  exposed  to  every  in- 
dignity. Wasn't  it  Domitian  who  invented  the 
idea  of  disgrace  as  an  excuse  for  the  confisca- 
tion of  the  property  of  those  he  drove  to  sui- 
cide?" 

"  Even  if  he  did,  the  Antonines  sustained  him 
and  perpetuated  the  custom,"  interrupted  Ted; 
but  Karl  went  on  dispassionately. 

"The  prejudice  against  taking  life  under  any 
circumstances  is  largely  a  Christian  idea,  yet 

80 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

few  religions  lay  so  much  stress  on  the  life  to 
come  or  depict  it  in  such  glowing  terms.  It 
seems  as  if  the  Christian,  with  his  belief  that 
death  is  gain,  should  hold  life  lightly  rather 
than  the  Japanese,  whose  future  life  is  dreary 
and  repellent." 

"I  think  it  is  the  idea  of  duty,"  ventured 
Miss  Elise  rather  timidly.  "That  is  the  fun- 
damental difference  between  the  Christian  re- 
ligion and  other  religions.  I  suppose  duty  is 
the  basis  of  any  religion,  but  I  don't  know  any 
other  that  dwells  as  largely  upon  our  duty  to 
our  fellow  men.  The  question  with  us  is  what 
is  right,  not  for  ourselves  alone,  but  in  the 
widest  possible  relation  to  other  people.  The 
Jap  is  guided  by  his  worship  of  his  ancestors; 
his  supreme  duty  is  to  the  dead  rather  than 
to  the  living.  He  ends  his  life  rather  than 
endure  what  might  be  construed  as  an  insult 
to  the  shades  of  his  great-grandfathers,  even  if 
he  leaves  a  family  that  will  be  reduced  to  pen- 
ury by  his  action;  at  the  worst,  have  they  not 
his  example  ?  We  can't  judge  a  nation  that 
has  such  different  ideals.  The  question  re- 
mains, is  it  right?" 

Si 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

"Who  is  to  say  ?"  answered  her  sister.  "Can 
we  lay  down  a  hard  and  fast  rule  of  right  and 
wrong  ?  Didn't  we  glorify  the  old  woman  who 
killed  herself  that  her  son  might  feel  himself 
free  to  go  to  fight  the  Russians  ?  As  Karl  says, 
we  may  sing  about  lands  of  pure  delight  where 
saints  immortal  reign,  but  we  don't  take  any 
chances  of  getting  there  as  long  as  we  can 
avoid  it.  We  hang  on,  sans  eyes,  sans  teeth, 
sans  everything,  a  burden  to  ourselves  and 
everybody  else.  Solomon  said  there  was  a  time 
to  die,  and  when  that  time  comes  I  have  no 
gratitude  to  the  science  that  prolongs  life  under 
such  circumstances." 

Karl  nodded  approvingly.  "Every  humane 
society  takes  the  life  of  animals  when  it  is 
necessary  to  relieve  them  from  ceaseless  pain," 
he  said;  "why  should  we  cease  to  be  humane 
because  the  sufferer  belongs  to  humankind 
rather  than  to  the  brute  creation  ?  In  every 
hospital,  in  every  asylum,  lives  are  preserved  in 
pain  and  weariness  that  are  a  useless  burden 
to  themselves  and  the  community.  It  costs  as 
much  to  keep  a  feeble-minded  child  in  school 
as  to  give  a  normal  child  the  best  advantages, 
82 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

and  he  can  learn  such  a  little  then,  not  enough 
for  life  ever  to  be  a  joy  to  him;  he  will  never 
be  intelligently  alive.  If  we  are  pagans  and 
believe  this  life  is  all,  is  it  worth  while  to  live 
it  in  such  a  way  ?  If  we  are  really  Christians 
and  believe  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  why 
not  release  him  and  let  him  pass  on  to  the  life 
more  abundant  ?" 

"Money  ought  not  to  enter  into  it  at  all," 
said  Ted  a  little  warmly.  "We  can't  kill  people 
just  because  there  are  too  many  of  them.  Be- 
sides, it  is  all  sophistry  anyhow.  Go  back  to 
Sparta  and  her  plan  to  secure  the  survival  of 
the  fittest,  and  what  do  we  know  or  care  for 
Sparta  ?  She  has  left  us  nothing  but  the  mem- 
ory of  Leonidas.  'The  glory  that  was  Greece  ' 
doesn't  come  down  to  us  from  the  people  who 
would  have  killed  their  Byrons  and  Popes  in 
infancy.  Just  eliminate  all  the  physically  unfit 
and  see  what  will  happen  to  art  and  literature 
from  Homer  down  to  Milton  and  Prescott, 
Beethoven  and  Schumann.  There  isn't  one  of 
us  who  does  not  know  some  soul  who  has  lived 
on  the  rack  of  pain  yet  kept  so  sweet,  so  strong, 
so  sane,  that  we  have  felt  more  envy  than  pity. 

83 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Who  is  to  be  a  judge,  who  would  be  willing  to 
take  the  responsibility  of  passing  the  death 
sentence  wholesale,  and  to  whom  are  we  willing 
to  intrust  such  power  as  that  ?" 

"I  don't  think  you  understand  Karl  exactly," 
said  Miss  Brent.  "His  idea  is  that  it  is  more 
merciful  to  release  these  unhappy  ones  from 
the  burden  of  life  than  to  exhaust  every  means 
to  prolong  their  lives.  But  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  before  any  such  action  is  ever  taken 
we  shall  have  had  to  entirely  revise  our  code 
in  regard  to  suicide.  Perhaps  we  are  not  civil- 
ized enough  to  get  along  without  sickness  and 
pain;  we  need  the  schooling  in  patience  and 
tenderness  as  well  as  in  medical  science;  but  if 
the  sufferer  himself  elects  to  go  I  can  see  no 
reason  why  we  should  demand  that  he  stay. 
What  is  it  Montaigne  says  ?  —  that  'Nature  has 
ordered  one  door  into  life,  but  a  hundred 
thousand  out  of  it,'  and  again,  that  'living  is 
slavery,  if  the  liberty  of  dying  be  taken  away. 
God  gives  us  leave  enough  when  he  is  pleased 
to  reduce  us  to  such  a  condition  that  to  live 
is  far  worse  than  to  die/" 

Miss  Elise,  who  had  disappeared  into  the 
84 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

library,  returned  with  a  portentous  old  French 
volume  in  her  hands.  "Now  just  hear  me 
crush  Emmy  with  her  philosophers,"  she  said. 
"Here  on  the  very  next  page  Montaigne  says, — 
I'll  translate  it  the  best  I  can,  — '  It  belongs  to 
God  alone,  who  placed  us  here,  not  for  our- 
selves only,  but  for  his  glory  and  the  service  of 
others,  to  dismiss  us  when  it  shall  best  please 
him,  and  not  for  us  to  depart  without  his  per- 
mission.' And  listen  to  this:  'It  is  cowardice, 
not  virtue,  to  lie  in  a  furrow  under  a  tomb,  to 
evade  the  blows  of  fortune.'  Besides,  who 
knows  which  are  the  incurable  diseases  ?  or 
that  they  will  be  incurable  to-morrow  ?  Think 
of  the  marvels  that  are  being  discovered  every 
day.  What  are  you  thinking,  Hope  ?  You've 
been  in  a  brown  study  for  ten  minutes." 

The  girl  raised  her  head,  and  brushed  back 
a  refractory  lock  of  hair.  "I  was  thinking," 
she  began  hesitatingly,  "that  I  shouldn't  agree 
with  any  of  you,  or  any  of  those  who  are  ad- 
vocating these  various  plans  for  the  elimina- 
tion of  the  unfit,  with  or  without  their  consent, 
because  you  all  limit  the  justification  to  physical 
conditions,  as  if  bodily  pain  were  the  most 

85 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

acute  in  the  world.  That  I  do  not  believe. 
Only  'in  the  infinite  spirit  is  room  for  the 
pulse  of  an  infinite  pain/  I  can  imagine 
anguish  that  would  make  the  rack  a  flowery 
bed  of  ease.  We  all  read  of  cases  of  affliction 
in  the  San  Francisco  earthquake,  where  perhaps 
but  one  member  of  a  family  was  left, —  friends, 
relatives,  property  all  gone,  nothing  left  to 
begin  with  and  no  one  left  to  work  for,  — 
would  not  life  be  ten  times  more  awful  after 
such  an  experience  than  the  pangs  of  the  most 
cruel  disease  ?  When  the  fountains  of  the  great 
deep  of  one's  soul  are  broken  up,  there  is  far 
more  excuse  for  finding  life  unbearable  than 
any  physical  pain  can  give.  Can  you  imagine 
Lazarus,  called  back  from  the  tomb,  ever  find- 
ing life  quite  the  same  again  ?  It  seems  to  me 
as  if  he  must  always  have  walked  apart." 

Miss  Brent  was  listening  intently.  "But, 
my  dear,"  she  said,  "such  a  man  can  still  be 
useful,  while  the  patient  suffering  from  some 
hopeless,  torturing  disease  is  of  no  use  to  him- 
self or  any  one  else." 

"How  can  we  say  that?"  said  the  girl  ear- 
nestly. "We  are  talking  of  one's  right  to  end 
86 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

his  own  life  when  it  becomes  intolerable  to 
him,  not  of  our  right  to  pick  and  choose  and 
take  life  when  we  see  fit.  If  we  are  to  issue 
suicide  permits  to  lepers,  and  I  don't  say  we 
should  not,  I  can't  see  by  what  logic  we  deny 
the  claims  of  my  hypothetical  Californian.  We 
are  not  regarding  him  as  a  beast  of  burden  to 
be  fed  until  he  can  no  longer  bear  the  burden; 
the  question  is  not  of  what  use  he  may  be  to 
the  world,  but  of  what  value  is  life  to  him. 
When  he  goes  to  sleep  he  lives  through  it  all 
again.  He  sees  the  flames  and  hears  the  crack 
of  the  rifle  that  brought  merciful  release  to 
those  who  were  doomed.  He  wakens  suddenly, 
feeling  again  the  shock  of  closing  walls  and 
sliding  floors.  By  what  curious  course  of  rea- 
soning would  you  give  a  release  to  a  man  suffer- 
ing from  locomotor  ataxia  to  be  a  blessed 
ghost  and  condemn  this  man  to  the  nightmare 
of  life  in  death  ?  I  don't  say  it  isn't  right  to 
give  the  merciful  cup  to  the  first,  but  if  you 
do,  how  can  you  refuse  it  to  the  second  ?" 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments;  every 
one  was  conscious  of  some  strange,  electrical 
tension,  then  Ted  broke  it  abruptly. 

87 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"That's  it.  If  you  begin,  where  is  the  line 
to  be  drawn  ?  It  sounds  fairly  well  until  you 
begin  to  work  it  out  in  detail,  and  then  it  falls 
to  pieces  of  its  own  weight  and  weakness. 
Let's  give  it  up,  and  find  some  less  morbid 
theme  for  our  experiment." 

"I  second  the  motion,"  said  Miss  Elise. 
"Let's  have  something  cheerful  and  happy. 
There's  enough  misery  without  our  imagining 
any  more." 

And  though  they  changed  the  subject,  and 
banished  the  gloom  it  had  occasioned,  it  re- 
mained a  vague  phantom  of  unrest,  haunting 
the  minds  of  Miss  Elise  and  Hope. 


XI 


TT  is  a  good  thing  to  possess  ten  talents,  or 
even  five,  or  but  one,  but  it  is  a  bad  thing  to 
overestimate  the  value  of  one's  possessions. 
Miss  Brent's  attic  and  basement  specimens  of 
the  genus  genius  struggled  along  as  best  they 
could;  and  as  they  were  about  equally  gifted  in 
different  ways,  it  did  not  occur  to  them  that  they 
were  above  and  apart  from  the  rest  of  their 
fellows.  The  fact  that  there  are  thousands  of 
young  men  and  women  in  New  York  who  never 
write  anything,  who  cannot  sing  or  play  or 
draw  a  picture,  who  do  not  read  and  to  whom 
study  would  be  a  hardship,  —  this  gigantic  fact, 
palpable  and  obvious  as  it  may  be,  did  not 
present  itself  to  their  minds.  Each  one  ad- 
mired the  achievements  of  the  others  more  than 
his  own.  Prince  Karl  was  going  to  be  a  mining 
engineer;  he  could  not  only  write  a  story,  but 
he  knew  the  secrets  of  the  rocks,  and  he  stood 
high  in  his  classes  and  bade  fair  to  take  all 
sorts  of  honors  at  Columbia.  And  if  Ted  had 

89 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

not  succeeded  in  literature,  and  was  still  brief- 
less, he  was  a  barrister  nevertheless.  Louis  was 
on  the  highway  to  success,  and  although  that 
highway  is  much  like  the  rocky  road  to  Dublin, 
still  none  of  the  Brent  household  doubted  that 
he  was  bound  to  arrive;  and  Paul's  music  and 
verse  made  the  cares  that  infest  the  day  flee 
without  waiting  to  fold  their  tents. 

Lorraine's  political  sketches  had  become 
something  of  a  feature,  and  she  was  on  the 
pay-roll  regularly.  Uncle  Peter  Bright  had 
found  a  place  for  Hope  with  a  publisher,  where 
she  read  and  read,  and  learned  something  of 
what  the  public  is  supposed  to  want,  which 
helped  her  to  dispose  of  some  of  her  own  ar- 
ticles; and  between  Hope  and  Lorraine  con- 
siderable illustrating  was  thrown  into  the  eager 
hands  of  little  Bess,  who  was  blossoming  into 
a  most  beautiful  womanhood. 

Over  them  all  was  the  unfailing  faith  and 
affection  of  the  Heavenly  Twins,  who  would 
not  have  believed  it  possible  for  one  ugly 
duckling  to  find  a  place  among  their  young 
swans. 

As  the  summer  came  on  the  daily,  hourly 
90 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

struggle  grew  less  for  most  of  the  young  people. 
Prince  Karl  was  preparing  for  a  trip  to  the 
Rockies  to  geologize  and  see  mining  at  first 
hand ;  Louis  was  in  the  throes  of  watching  the 
rehearsals  of  his  farce,  which  was  to  go  on  at 
one  of  the  summer  theaters  where  Paul  played 
second  violin. 

But  things  were  in  a  bad  way  for  Teddy.  As 
the  days  passed  he  seemed  to  grow  a  little  thin- 
ner and  lankier  each  day.  The  doctor  across 
the  hall  suggested  that  erelong  they  might 
open  opposition  stalls  in  a  dime  museum  as 
the  living  skeleton  and  the  ossified  man. 

"Yes;  we  can  realize  Sidney  Smith's  wish  to 
take  off  his  flesh  and  sit  in  his  bones,"  he 
answered  with  a  rather  feeble  smile;  "but  I 
can't  say  that  I  see  much  fun  in  it."  He 
looked  across  the  hall  at  his  orderly  desk  and 
bleakly  empty  office.  He  had  had  that  office 
for  two  years  the  coming  fall,  —  ever  since  he 
had  been  admitted  to  the  bar,  —  and  he  had 
never  been  so  much  as  retained.  He  had  never 
had  a  client,  save  as  now  and  then  he  had  been 
appointed  to  defend  some  one.  He  had  written 
a  weekly  New  York  letter  to  his  home  paper, 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

and  once  in  a  while  he  had  sold  an  article,  but 
the  end  was  in  sight. 

He  looked  up  at  the  doctor's  sign,  "Frances 
Silverton,  M.D.,"  and  at  her  office,  the  coun- 
terpart of  his  own,  except  that,  being  a  woman, 
hers  was  a  little  less  dingy. 

"Doctor,"  he  said  shortly,  "let's  cut  it. 
There's  no  use  trying  any  longer.  Let's  go 
West  and  grow  up  with  the  country.  New 
York  is  no  place  for  poor  people.  Let's  go  to 
some  little  place  far  out  West  and  take  our 
chances  that  there  will  be  more  malaria,  which 
is  good  for  your  business,  and  more  bad  blood, 
which  is  good  for  mine." 

The  doctor  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said, 
"no;  who  was  that  sage  who  said,  'God  Al- 
mighty hates  a  quitter'  ?  There  are  more  people 
who  hate  each  other  to  the  point  of  going  to 
law  about  it  in  New  York  than  anywhere  else 
in  this  country.  Judging  from  my  experience, 
nobody  ever  dies  a  natural  death  here,  with  or 
without  medical  aid;  yet  I  have  faith  to  believe 
my  time's  coming,  and  I'm  getting  plenty  of 
experience,  if  it  doesn't  bring  in  any  money. 
Some  new  bacillus  will  come  to  the  rescue." 
92 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"  But  when  ?  Bacilli  are  slow  and  rime  is 
fleeting." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  answered;  "but  you  can 
be  sure  of  one  thing.  There's  no  place  where 
there's  a  better  show  than  New  York.  It  may 
take  longer  to  succeed,  but  when  success  comes, 
—  when  it  comes  it  is  worth  having,  and 
means  something  anywhere  else  you  may  go. 
But  succeed  in  any  other  city  in  America  and 
New  York  is  still  ahead  of  you,  frowning  and 
impregnable,  her  harbor  full  of  torpedoes. 
Stay  by  it  awhile  longer.  It  will  pay  in  the 
end."  ^ 

"Perhaps,"  he  answered.  "At  the  present 
rate  I'm  afraid  it  will  not  pay  in  rime,  or 
enough  to  meet  the  funeral  expenses." 


93 


XII 

CUMMER  had  come  in  good  earnest.  The 
streets  fairly  palpitated  with  the  heat,  and 
the  big,  gloomy  office  building  where  Ted  spent 
most  of  his  time  was  half  deserted.  The  doctor 
found  plenty  of  occupation,  if  small  remunera- 
tion; the  lawyers  were  away  for  their  summer 
vacations  and  the  other  tenants  kept  office  hours 
in  a  desultory  fashion,  if  at  all.  Ted  walked 
home,  thinking  wrathfully  of  the  stupidity  of 
fate,  and  the  long  hard  climb  before  we  can 
even  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  Delectable  Moun- 
tains. 

When  he  reached  the  house  he  went  down 
the  three  steps  into  the  basement  instead  of 
up  the  three  flights  to  the  attic.  The  girls  \vere 
a  sympathetic  lot,  but  he  rather  wished  that 
Hope  would  be  at  home;  there  was  more  in 
common  between  them;  they  could  join  in  the 
hymn  of  the  conquered.  He  had  never  minded 
being  poor  so  much  until  he  met  Bess. 

But  neither  Hope  nor  Bess  were  there.  In- 
94 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

stead  he  was  startled  by  the  sight  of  Miss 
Brent  bending  over  a  pile  of  Lorraine's  copy 
and  wiping  her  tear-dimmed  glasses.  Lorraine 
was  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  her  eyes 
blazing  out  of  her  white  face,  and  her  hands 
clenched. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter?"  he  asked. 
"What  has  happened?  Is  any  one  hurt,  —  is 
Bess  —  " 

"Oh,  no!"  answered  Miss  Brent.  "It's  Lor- 
raine's story.  Tell  him  about.it,  Lorraine;  I 
can't.  Sit  down,  Teddy." 

The  girl  went  on  walking  up  and  down  until 
she  gained  a  little  more  self-control. 

"It's  the  Riordan  case,"  she  said,  trying  to 
keep  the  quiver  out  of  her  lips.  "You  must 
have  read  about  it;  the  papers  have  been  full 
of  it." 

"Good  Lord!  They  haven't  put  you  on 
that,  have  they?"  he  asked  disgustedly.  "The 
idea  of  sending  a  woman  like  you  to  look  up  a 
miserable  lot  of  little  degenerates  and  cut-throats 
like  those!" 

"Hush!"  she  said  excitedly.  "You  are  a 
lawyer;  you  have  no  business  to  take  sjdes, 

95 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

still  less  to  'take  life  without  the  form  of  jus- 
tice.' You  ought  not  to  believe  in  the  mission 
of  the  daily  press  to  act  as  judge,  jury,  and 
executioner.  What  do  you  know  about  it 
anyway  ?" 

"I  know  what  every  one  knows,  that  this 
gang  of  boys  are  the  usual  cigarette-smoking, 
dime-novel  reading  little  toughs;  that  they  call 
themselves  the  Jesse  James  gang,  and  that  they 
shot  and  murdered  a  playfellow  in  cold  blood," 
he  answered. 

"You  mean  you  know  what  you've  read," 
she  said;  "is  that  what  you  call  evidence? 
Those  children  had  never  heard  of  Jesse  James 
until  one  of  our  enterprising  newspaper  artists 
stood  them  up  before  his  camera  and  christened 
them  so.  There  isn't  a  scintilla  of  proof  against 
them." 

"Didn't  one  of  the  boys  confess  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  three  of  them  confessed,"  she  an- 
swered. "Three  of  them  confessed  to  me,  after 
the  police  had  'sweated'  them  for  hours." 

"Then  what  more  do  you  want?"  he  asked 
a  little  impatiently. 

"Well,  you  see,  they  all  confessed  to  different 
96 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

things;  their  stories  didn't  hang  together,"  she 
replied.  "The  essential  facts  are  these:  The 
little  Riordan  boy  was  sent  to  bring  home  the 
cow.  He  had  to  pass  the  place  where  these 
other  boys  were  in  swimming;  it  was  a  kind  of 
woodsy  little  playground,  not  far  from  the 
water.  Later  he  was  found,  shot  dead  in 
these  woods,  where  the  Brown  boys  and  Roy 
Collins  had  been  at  play.  A  boy  named  Willie 
Hinckley  says  that  Roy  shot  Patsy,  and  Rior- 
dan made  the  complaint;  the  boys  were  all 
arrested  and  taken  to  jail  without  a  moment 
to  see  their  folks.  The  youngest  is  eight  years 
old,  and  the  oldest  seventeen.  The  eight-year- 
old  boy  has  confessed,  also  one  who  is  about 
eleven,  and  who  is  subject  to  epileptic  attacks, 
and  the  boy  named  Hinckley,  who  made  the 
charge  originally,  and  has  taken  it  back  and 
then  repeated  it  twice  since." 

"Do  you  mean  you  think  they  didn't  do  it  ?" 
asked  Ted  incredulously. 

"I'm  perfectly  certain  they  didn't,"  she  an- 
swered, "but  how  can  they  prove  it  ?" 

"They  don't  have  to,"  he  responded  quickly. 
"The  burden  of  proof  is  on  the  prosecution; 

97 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

they  must  prove  that  the  crime  was  committed. 
The  accused  are  not  compelled  to  show  their 
innocence.  That's  as  old  as  Magna  Charta," 
he  finished  conclusively. 

"Nonsense,"  she  said  curtly.  "Stuff  and 
nonsense.  They  have  been  sentenced  already. 
Half  the  papers  have  had  leaders  on  the  in- 
crease of  crime,  and  the  number  of  arrests 
among  the  young;  the  other  half  are  moralizing 
over  the  evil  effects  of  novel  reading,  and  ask- 
ing what  shall  be  done  with  these  young  repro- 
bates. Every  one  of  them  has  bunches  of 
scavengers  out  looking  up  evidence  to  send 
these  half  dozen  children  to  prison  for  life." 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing  on  the 
case?"  asked  Ted. 

"  I  ?  Well,  Maxwell  sent  me  to  write  my 
impressions,  honestly,  and  I  went,  with  very 
much  the  same  expectations  as  you  would  have 
had,  from  what  you  have  just  said.  I  did  not 
find  what  I  expected,  but  seven  boys,  one  of 
them  crying  hysterically  for  his  mother,  and 
nothing  about  any  of  them  to  justify  the  belief 
that  they  were  in  any  way  different  from  dozens 
of  other  country  boys.  You  know  it  happened 
98 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

out  in  a  little  suburb  that  is  just  like  the  coun- 
try." 

Ted  was  beginning  to  look  bewildered. 
"What  have  you  written  about  it  ?"  he  said. 

She  picked  up  the  first  page  of  her  copy, 
where  she  had  written  in  a  bold,  free  hand, 
"  For  the  Defense  in  the  Riordan  Case." 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  he  said.  "Oh,  I  sup- 
pose the  lawyer  they  have  retained  has  a  pull 
with  your  paper!" 

"No,"  she  answered  steadily.  "They  haven't 
any  lawyer;  they  are  too  poor  to  employ  one. 
They  consulted  Ward,  but  if  they  mortgaged 
everything  they  have  in  the  world  they  couldn't 
pay  his  retainer  fee.  I  suppose  the  court  will 
assign  some  one  to  defend  them,  but  that  will 
amount  to  nothing.  Public  sentiment  is  all  the 
other  way.  I  don't  know  why  we  should  have 
a  public  prosecutor  any  more  than  a  public 
defender.  The  defense  of  these  boys  will  be  a 
mere  empty  formality,  and  the  memory  of  their 
mothers'  faces  haunts  me.  After  I  had  seen 
them  I  went  to  their  homes,  and  I  know  they 
are  innocent,  but  how  can  we  prove  it  ?  and  it 
will  kill  their  mothers!" 

99 


UNDER   THE   HARROW 

Her  voice  broke,  and  Miss  Brent  wiped  her 
glasses  again  and  pushed  the  copy  across  the 
table  to  Ted.  "Read  it,  my  dear,"  she  said, 
"and  then,  if  you  are  willing  to  take  the  case, 
I  would  like  to  retain  your  services.  The  boys 
have  found  a  defender,  but  they  still  need  a 
lawyer." 

He  read  the  long,  circumstantial  story  care- 
fully. There  were  treacherous  breaks  in  his 
voice  and  his  eyes  were  bright  as  he  laid  it 
aside  and  said  slowly,  "I  dare  hardly  call 
myself  a  lawyer,  but  such  as  I  am,  if  they  have 
no  one  else,  I  will  do  the  best  I  can  for  the 
defense." 


100 


XIII 

r^ED  was  as  good  as  his  word,  or  even  a 
trifle  better.  Having  undertaken  the  de- 
fense of  the  boys,  he  went  over  the  case  with 
Lorraine,  point  by  point,  making  notes  and 
planning  his  campaign,  and  the  next  morning 
the  two  set  out  for  the  prison  where  the 
defendants  were  confined,  the  gravity  of  the 
charge  against  them  making  the  ordinary  house 
of  detention  for  juvenile  offenders  out  of  the 
question. 

Lorraine's  defense  of  the  accused,  which  was 
out  in  the  morning  edition,  did  not  make  her  a 
more  welcome  visitor  at  the  prison,  for  prisons 
are  conducted  on  the  belief  that  it  is  well-nigh 
impossible  to  make  a  mistake  in  arresting  any 
one.  Nevertheless,  her  daring  in  taking  the 
side  of  the  under  dog  —  such  a  helpless,  un- 
fortunate, unromantic,  yellow  under  dog — won 
the  admiration,  if  not  the  approval,  of  the 
department,  and  the  doors  swung  open  before 
her. 

101 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

They  groped  their  way  through  the  dark 
corridors  to  the  cell  where  the  older  and  pre- 
sumably more  desperate  of  the  criminal  chil- 
dren were  confined.  The  oldest  boy,  Arthur 
Brown,  looked  wistfully  out  from  behind  the 
bars,  and  when  the  door  was  opened  stood  in 
the  narrow  aperture  and  answered  Ted's  ques- 
tions. He  was  rather  a  gentle-faced  boy,  be- 
tween seventeen  and  eighteen,  and  as  they  stood 
a  cat  walked  into  his  cell.  He  picked  her 
up,  with  a  quick,  loving  motion,  and  held 
her  against  his  neck,  where  she  purred  con- 
tentedly. 

"Please  don't  mind  my  hands,"  he  said. 
"I'd  been  shoveling  dirt  where  they're  making 
an  excavation,  and  I  haven't  had  any  chance 
to  wash." 

"Arthur,"  said  Lorraine,  "I've  been  to  see 
your  folks;  they  have  perfect  confidence  in  you, 
and  you  must  not  be  unhappy.  This  gentle- 
man, Mr.  Theodore  Erskine,  is  going  to  defend 
you.  Tell  him  all  you  can,  and  tell  him  the 
exact  truth." 

The  boy  stopped  petting  the  cat  and  looked 
at  them  in  astonishment.  "We  haven't  any 

102 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

money,"  he  said  simply.  "Father's  got  a  cow, 
if  that  would  be  any  use  to  you;  but  we  haven't 
any  money  at  all,  because  father's  been  sick, 
and  I  was  the  only  one  that  was  making  any- 
thing. I  don't  know  what  they  will  do  with- 
out me.  Roy  Collins'  folks  can  afford  a  lawyer; 
but  of  course  time  is  money  with  you,  sir,  and 
we  can't  expect  you  to  do  this  for  nothing, 
and  we  haven't  anything;  I  wish  we  couid 
have  you." 

Ted  gulped  and  colored.  Time  was  the  only 
thing  in  the  world  which  he  possessed  in  abun- 
dance. 

"Never  mind  about  that,"  he  said  hurriedly. 
"Don't  think  anything  about  the  money,  or  the 
cow,  but  tell  me  all  you  know  about  this  and 
help  me  to  clear  your  little  brothers;  I  think 
from  what  I  know  that  your  own  alibi  is  clear. 
But  if  Roy  is  guilty,  you  cannot  afford  to  shield 
him;  you  must  speak  the  truth  to  save  your 
brothers." 

"My  folks  never  allowed  any  of  us  to  lie," 
he  said  slowly.  "My  little  brother,  that  they 
said  confessed,  used  the  words  that  was  put 
into  his  mouth;  don't  I  know?  They  tried  the 

103 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

same  thing  with  me.  Wasn't  this  so,  wasn't 
that  so,  didn't  I  know  that  Roy  had  broken 
down  and  owned  that  he  did  it,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  for  hours  and  hours,  and  nothing 
to  eat,  and  part  of  the  time  shut  in  a  dark  cell. 
No  wonder  Jimmy  finally  said  whatever  they 
told  him  to.  But  it  isn't  so.  Roy  never  had  a 
gun,  except  an  old  muzzle-loading  musket  that 
burst  the  first  time  we  fired  it  off,  Fourth  of 
July.  What  would  we  have  killed  Patsy  for  ? 
He  was  a  nice  little  chap." 

It  was  a  long,  hard  day's  work  to  interview 
each  of  the  boys  and  their  parents,  but  if 
Lorraine's  views  had  not  met  with  favor  at 
police  headquarters  she  was  received  with  bene- 
dictions and  open  arms  at  the  homes  of  the 
accused.  When  she  explained  that  a  friend 
who  was  interested  had  employed  Mr.  Erskine 
to  defend  the  Brown  children,  without  any  cost 
to  their  parents,  Miss  Brent  was  calendared  as 
a  saint  at  once,  while  Teddy  was  regarded  as  a 
tall  angel;  certainly  his  raiment  was  shining  at 
every  seam.  The  parents  of  Roy  Collins  had 
employed  an  attorney  named  Harrison,  but  as 
the  cases  were  so  closely  allied,  Teddy  wasted 
104 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

no  time  in  conferring  with  him,  and  then  went 
home  to  draw  up  his  first  papers  in  his  first 
case,  a  case  already  a  nine-days'  wonder,  and 
destined  to  hold  "top  of  column"  when  it 
should  come  off. 


105 


XIV 

;  I  VHE  exigencies  of  the  defense  made  it  neces- 
sary for  the  attorneys  for  the  Brown  boys 
and  the  Collins  boy  to  have  frequent  consulta- 
tions, and  a  fast  friendship  sprung  up  between 
Ted  and  Mr.  Harrison,  who,  though  a  much 
older  man  than  himself,  had  not  been  in  New 
York  for  a  great  length  of  time,  and  had  been 
glad  to  take  the  Collins  defense  because  of  the 
opportunity  it  afforded  him  to  make  a  debut  in  a 
somewhat  spectacular  trial.  He  had  made  his 
terms  to  suit  the  emergency  in  his  own  affairs. 
He  was  not  inexperienced  in  his  profession, 
but  merely  one  of  those  who  having  succeeded 
elsewhere  had  his  spurs  yet  to  win  in  New 
York.  He  was  a  man  of  fine  presence,  lit- 
erary tastes,  and  a  winning  personality,  though 
at  times  Ted  found  him  somewhat  cold- 
blooded. 

Strangely  enough,   Lorraine,  who  had  been 
of  no  small  service  to  them,  took  an  aversion 
to  Harrison  from  the  very  first. 
1 06 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"Don't  be  unreasonable,"  Ted  argued. 
"You're  too  good  a  fellow  for  such  whims. 
The  Dr.  Fell  attitude  is  unworthy  of  you." 

They  were  going  over  the  case  for  the  twen- 
tieth time,  while  Bess  sketched  away  at  the 
other  end  of  the  table,  and  Hope  rested  in  the 
cozy  corner.  "What  are  you  two  quarreling 
about  now?"  she  asked. 

"Over  my  confrere  in  the  defense,"  Ted 
answered.  "I  think  Maurice  Harrison  is  all 
right,  and,  without  being  able  to  give  a  single 
reason,  Lorraine  dislikes  him  so  she  can  scarcely 
be  civil." 

"Maurice  Harrison  ?"  queried  Hope  vaguely. 
"What  has  he  to  do  with  the  Riordans  ?  I 
thought  he  was  literary." 

Lorraine  looked  up  quickly.  "Why,  do  you 
know  him?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  no,  I  don't  know,"  she  answered. 
"Is  he  a  tall,  blonde  man,  well  built,  rather 
handsome  ?  I  know  a  Harrison  like  that,  but 
he  is  a  writer.  He  has  a  novel  that  is  to  come 
out  this  fall  or  winter  some  time.  I  read  the 
manuscript,  and  my  verdict  was  so  favorable 
that  the  firm  showed  it  to  him,  and  —  and  so 

107 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

we  were  introduced,  and  I've  met  him  a  time 
or  so  since,"  rather  lamely. 

"I  guess  it's  the  same  man  all  right/'  an- 
swered Ted.  "He's  a  rattling  good  lawyer, 
keeps  'clear  and  cool'  like  the  weather  predic- 
tions for  to-day,  and  is  up  to  all  the  tricks  and 
dodges  of  the  law.  He  has  given  me  lots  of 
good  points  and  is  almost  as  much  interested 
in  my  clients  as  his  own.  Now,  don't  you 
think  that  is  unselfish  ?  Don't  you  like  him, 
Hope  ?  It's  the  same  man,  I'm  sure,  for  he 
told  me  he  had  a  story  coming  out." 

Before  Hope  could  answer,  for  she  hesitated 
several  moments,  Lorraine  joined  with  Ted: 
'Yes,  do  tell  us  about  him,  Hope.  To  my  mind 
the  one  thing  of  which  Maurice  Harrison  is 
absolutely  incapable  is  unselfishness.  Of  course 
he  takes  an  interest  in  Ted's  clients;  he  has  to; 
how  could  he  protect  his  own  if  he  didn't  ? 
Besides,  didn't  you  say  it  was  his  first  case  in 
New  York  that  is  any  ways  striking  ?" 

Hope  hesitated  still,  and  Ted  said  encourag- 
ingly, "'Speak,  and  let  the  worst  be  known, 
speaking  may  relieve  you,'"  and,  thus  urged, 
she  went  on. 

108 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I've  found  him  very 
interesting;  of  course  I  haven't  talked  business 
with  him,  for  literature  is  not  his  business  but 
only  a  by-path.  He  is  well  read  and  has 
traveled  considerable.  I  believe  the  family 
come  from  Philadelphia,  —  I  think  his  parents 
live  there  now, —  but  he  has  been  in  the  West 
for  some  years.  Possibly  if  I  met  him  when 
he  had  on  his  professional  manner  I  should  not 
like  him." 

Lorraine  looked  disappointed,  and  then  said, 
rather  irritably:  "I'd  be  willing  to  wager  my 
next  'exclusive'  that  his  interest  in  this  case  is 
largely  that  of  the  literary  ragpicker.  He  is 
contemplating  a  murder  story,  and  he  wants 
to  study  the  type  from  infancy  to  age.  He  has 
never  been  really  more  than  half  sure  of  Roy's 
innocence;  that's  one  reason  why  I  dislike  him 
so;  he  isn't  fair  to  the  child,  but  now  I  can 
understand  better.  You'll  see.  His  next  story 
will  have  a  lonely  wood  and  a  corpse  in  it,  and 
an  owl  that  inquires,  'Whoo,  whoo,  whoo/  from 
above  the  mangled  remains,  while  the  blood- 
shot moon  sinks  behind  the  black  and  somber 
forest.  I  know  his  type.  Has  he  decided  yet 

109 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

whether  to  have  a  snowstorm,  or  is  the  horrid 
deed  to  take  place  under  the  affrighted  eyes  of 
the  man  in  the  harvest  moon  ?" 

Hope  gasped,  for  Mr.  Harrison  had  confided 
to  her,  during  one  of  the  luncheons  they  had 
had  together  recently,  that  his  next  story  was 
to  be  one  of  plot,  and  they  had  discussed  the 
relative  virtues  of  snow  with  its  enveloping  pall, 
and  rain,  leaving  the  ground  in  good  condition 
for  telltale  footprints.  "Oh,  don't,  Lorraine!" 
she  said;  "this  case  is  getting-  on  your  nerves, 
and  you  are  so  anxious  about  it  that  you  are 
unduly  suspicious.  Mr.  Harrison  is  very  much 
a  gentleman,  and  has  quite  uncommonly  fine 
manners." 

"Yes,  as  mild  mannered  a  man  as  ever 
scuttled  a  ship,"  muttered  Lorraine  under  her 
breath;  adding  aloud,  "Well,  I  hope  I'm  mis- 
taken, but  his  eyes  are  too  close  together  to 
suit  me,  and  he's  as  given  to  moods  and  caprices 
as  a  'dope-fiend*  or  a  'Miss  Flora  MacFlimsy.' 
I've  no  doubt  he  can  be  entertaining,  but  — 
well,  I'll  leave  you  two  to  praise  him  all  you 
like.  I'm  going  to  see  Miss  Brent;  she's  worth 
a  million  of  him."  And  she  vanished  into 
no 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

the  gloom  of  the  hallway,  annoyed  with  Ted,  al- 
most provoked  with  Hope,  and  more  than  ever 
prejudiced  against  the  man  who  had  brought 
the  first  shadow  between  her  and  two  of  her 
best  friends. 


in 


XV 


"1T7ITH  the  first  of  September  Prince  Karl 
returned,  and  his  arrival  was  celebrated 
from  basement  to  garret.  He  brought  with  him 
a  trunk  of  ore,  a  red  Indian  tan,  and  an  insatiable 
appetite,  not  to  mention  a  brain  teeming  with 
the  romance  of  the  hills.  Lorraine  almost  wept 
upon  his  neck  for  joy,  for  there  seemed  to  have 
come  an  intangible  something  between  herself 
and  Hope.  Louis  was  wholly  absorbed  in  a 
new  play,  and  as  it  was  impossible  to  discuss 
Ted's  chief  interest  in  life  without  referring  to 
the  objectionable  Harrison,  they  had  tacitly 
shelved  it.  So  Lorraine  devoted  all  her  spare 
time  to  the  Miss  Brents,  yet  there  also  she  felt 
rather  than  saw  the  shadow  of  a  cloud.  Miss 
Emma  did  not  seem  quite  herself,  though  Miss 
Elise  was  apparently  happily  unconscious  of 
any  change. 

"I  think  I'll  give  it  up,"  said  Miss  Emma 
one  dark  afternoon  when  the  postman  brought 
back  two  of  her  most  cherished  animal  stories. 
112 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"I'm  too  old,  or  too  dull,  or  too  something  to 
get  into  print.  I'd  better  be  fixing  my  atten- 
tion on  the  tomb  and  preparing  for  death.  By 
the  way,  how  do  people  prepare  for  death  ? 
Renan  once  wrote  a  play,  of  which  nobody  has 
ever  heard  except  people  who  like  digging  up 
literary  curiosities,  to  prove  that  if  we  knew 
the  world  was  coming  to  an  end  next  week,  the 
whole  swinish  multitude  of  us  would  rush  vio- 
lently down  the  hill  and  drown  ourselves  in  a 
sea  of  unlicensed  debauchery.  What  would 
you  do  if  you  knew  your  time  was  limited  ?" 

"Keep  on  working,"  said  Lorraine  prosa- 
ically. "When  it  got  down  to  the  last  few 
days  I'd  burn  my  letters  and  papers,  give  away 
the  few  scraps  I  have  to  give,  and  arrange  with 
the  nearest  crematory  for  the  last  sad  rites. 
Then,  like  the  noble  three  hundred  at  Ther- 
mopylae, I'd  sit  down  and  comb  my  hair.  I'd 
like  to  leave  that  to  Uncle  Peter,"  she  added 
reflectively.  "I  feel  as  if  he  has  a  claim  on 
it.  But  what  a  question!  Even  if  one's  manu- 
script does  come  back,  there  is  no  use  in  being 
snuffed  out  like  Chatterton  or  slain  by  the  lack 
of  reviewers." 

"3 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"I  can't  seem  to  hit  the  popular  fancy," 
said  Miss  Brent.  "I  don't  get  anywhere  with 
all  my  writing,  except  as  the  papers  take  a 
letter  now  and  then.  It  would  never  occur  to 
me  to  record  the  fact  that  I've  never  seen  a 
purple  cow.  The  singular  fact  that  I've  never 
seen  a  little  colt  with  coat  as  white  as  snow, 
and  where  we  get  our  horses  white  I'd  really 
like  to  know,  has  never  seemed  to  me  of  suf- 
ficiently vital  importance  to  warrant  rushing 
into  print  with  it,  yet  that  is  as  remarkable  as 
the  narrative  of  the  lilac  mooley." 

"Maybe  that's  one  trouble,"  said  Lorraine. 
"If  you  had  hurried  to  the  publisher  with  your 
white  colt  before  the  lavender  cow  maybe  you 
would  have  achieved  everlasting  fame.  Thank 
heaven  for  the  people  who  are  willing  to  amuse 
us;  they  never  get  any  more  than  their  due 
when  they  get  the  best.  Most  of  us  don't  dare 
to  write  unless  we  think  we  have  a  revelation, 
and  then  we  complain  because  'vanity  is  still 
on  deck  and  humble  virtue  gets  it  in  the  neck." 

"Like  Lewis  Carroll,  with  his  horrid  old 
arithmetics,  being  ashamed  of  Alice  and  the 
Jabberwock,"  said  the  old  lady.  "I  dare  to 
114 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

be  as  funny  as  I  can,  but  it  takes  real  genius 
to  be  funny.  Anybody  can  be  serious  without 
being  wise." 

"Now  here's  an  idea,"  said  Lorraine,  "that 
came  to  me  when  I  was  reviewing,  but  I've  never 
worked  it  up  and  you're  more  than  welcome  to 
it.  It  is  a  plea  for  a  literary  humane  society." 

"On  behalf  of  the  readers  ?" 

"No,  for  the  prevention  of  cruelty  to  animals 
in  fiction.  There  seems  to  be  no  limit  to  the 
abuse  that  authors  are  willing  to  permit,  or  even 
encourage.  I  can  stand  what's-his-name  killing 
the  aurochs,  and  the  general  gladiatorial  slaugh- 
ters in  'Quo  Vadis,'  but  when  it  comes  to  tor- 
turing a  dog  the  way  the  vicar  does  in  'Jack 
Raymond'  I  object.  In  'The  Conquest  of 
Canaan'  the  whole  village  takes  a  hand  in  the 
persecution  of  a  dog,  and  the  way  heroes  and 
heroines  ride  and  drive  is  a  caution.  It's  the 
lady  in  'Dorothy  Vernon'  and  the  man  in 
'None  but  the  Brave.'  You  remember  how 
'Richard  Carvel'  exploits  that  horse,  jumping 
him  over  houses  and  racing  him  about  London, 
while  in  'The  Leopard's  Spots'  Dixon  heart- 
lessly drives  a  bay  mare  ten  miles  in  forty-nine 

"5 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

minutes,  over  country  roads  up  hill  and  down, 
so  that  she  drops  dead.  I  object  to  these  ex- 
amples of  cruelty  being  placed  in  the  hands  of 
the  children  of  the  land." 

"I'll  do  it,"  said  Miss  Brent  with  much 
gusto.  "Didn't  you  hate  the  man  who  killed 
Kroof's  cub  in  'The  Heart  of  the  Ancient 
Wood'  ?  I  hope  she  never  married  him,  and  if 
she  did  —  I  don't  mean  Kroof,  but  the  girl  —  I'm 
sure  they  lived  unhappily  ever  after.  But  do 
you  think  I  can  ?  I'm  afraid  I  can  never  be  a 
really  intellectual  woman." 

Miss  Elise,  who  had  come  in  a  few  minutes 
before  with  the  tea  things,  laughed  and  said 
consolingly:  "Never  mind,  Emmy.  I  never 
knew  but  one  intellectual  woman  who  prided 
herself  on  that  fact.  She  could  not  keep  house  or 
sew,  and  her  flannels  always  showed  at  the  wrist. 
There  comes  Hope  down  the  street.  She  walks 
as  if  her  name  were  Madame  Atlas;  suppose  I 
go  and  call  her  in  to  have  some  tea  with  us." 

"Your  sister's  description  reminds  me  of  the 
lady  who  said  her  friend  was  not  vulgar;  she 
was   not    refined;    she   was   the   kind    of  per- 
son who  keeps  a  parrot.     I  shall  never  strive 
116 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

for  intellectuality  again.  What  is  the  matter, 
Hope?"  for  the  girl  had  come  in  and  dropped 
down  beside  Miss  Brent,  the  very  picture  of 
despondency. 

"Oh,  it's  'Goliath'!"  she  said.  "I've  been 
thinking  of  that  story  that  was  so  good  the 
author  couldn't  sell  anything  else;  'My  Wife's 
Deceased  Sister,'  wasn't  it  ?  Well,  that's  the 
trouble.  Those  people  had  taken  a  lot  of 
things  before  'Goliath,'  but  they've  never  been 
pleased  with  anything  since.  They  are  as  kind 
as  possible  and  they  say  different  things,  but 
they  all  mean  the  same;  nothing  I've  sent  them 
has  come  up  to  'Goliath.'  Oh,  for  a  David  with 
his  ever-ready  sling  to  have  slain  my  ogre!" 

"Perhaps  you  are  trying  to  wear  the  armor 
of  Saul  and  it  doesn't  fit,"  said  Miss  Brent 
whimsically.  "As  near  as  I  can  figure  it  out, 
that  is  what's  the  matter  with  me.  We  haven't 
found  our  line  yet.  Don't  you  remember  what 
Arnold  says  ? 

'And  we  have  been  on  many  thousand  lines, 
And  we  have  shown  on  each  talent  and  power, 
But  hardly  have  we,  for  one  little  hour, 
Been  on  our  own  line,  have  we  been  ourselves.' 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

One  of  these  days  some  publisher  will  discover 
you  and  your  fortune  will  be  made." 

"No,"  said  Hope  resolutely,  "I  used  to  think 
that,  but  I  know  better  now.  I've  got  all  the 
chance  there  is  and  so  has  everybody  else.  If 
one  publisher  doesn't  like  your  work  there  are 
dozens  of  others,  and  the  way  the  Arthurs  have 
hung  on  to  me,  and  tried  to  help  me  with  all 
kinds  of  suggestions,  and  written  me  every  now 
and  then  to  send  them  something,  shows  plainly 
enough  that  the  publishers  are  just  as  anxious 
to  discover  latent  talent  as  any  of  us  can  be 
to  be  discovered.  I'm  not  so  jaundiced  by 
defeat  that  I  can't  see  that.  The  fault  is  not 
in  the  publishers,  but  in  me." 

"I  wish  she'd  fall  in  love,"  said  Lorraine 
tempestuously.  "Nothing  would  do  her  so 
much  good." 

"Never!"  cried  Miss  Brent.  "She'd  marry 
and  the  world  would  lose  her.  Fancy  a  God- 
given  genius  attending  to  the  family  marketing 
and  mending  while  the  ink  dries  in  her 
fountain  pen.  Anybody  can  get  married, 
but  only  a  few  people  can  write  a  story  like 
'Goliath'!" 

118 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"Oh,  I  don't  care  anything  about  her  getting 
married,"  Lorraine  answered,  oblivious  of  the 
fact  that  Hope  had  blushed  furiously  and  then 
turned  pale  and  colored  again.  "It  isn't  in  the 
least  necessary  for  the  affair  to  go  so  far  as 
that.  Kipling  says,  'Next  to  a  requited  at- 
tachment, one  of  the  most  convenient  things 
that  a  young  man  can  carry  about  with  him,  at 
the  beginning  of  his  career,  is  an  unrequited 
attachment.'  I'm  convinced  if  Hope  once  had 
a  case  of  heart  disease  of  the  malignant  type, 
no  palpitations  need  apply,  that  she  would 
find  herself." 

The  old  lady  sniffed  unbelievingly.  "You 
were  evidently  brought  up  on  the  belief  that 
whatever  hurts  does  good.  That's  orthodox, 
but  I  don't  believe  it  myself.  Love  isn't  the 
djinn  or  the  Aladdin's  lamp  of  life.  Goodness 
knows  it  isn't  generally  even  the  magic  carpet 
that  makes  easy  going.  It's  the  little  old  man 
of  the  sea.  Don't  pay  any  attention  to  her, 
Hope.  Just  be  a  genius,  and  don't  be  in  a 
hurry  to  take  up  with  the  good  loaf  of  brown 
bread  prescribed  for  geniuses.  You  will  arrive 
without  putting  yourself  under  a  steam-crusher 
119 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

to  hasten  the  good  work.  By  the  steps  in 
the  hall  I  should  say  Bess  and  Teddy  have 
come  in.  If  Lorraine  must  have  a  love 
affair  and  can't  be  happy  till  she  gets  it,  that 
looks  rather  promising.  Have  some  more  tea, 
Hope." 

Though  the  girl  drank  her  tea  and  tried  to 
shake  off  her  depression,  the  effort  was  appar- 
ent, and  when  they  were  alone  that  evening 
Lorraine  made  her  a  bowl  of  catnip  tea  and 
insisted  on  her  going  to  bed. 

"No,  it  isn't  that  I'm  tired  or  sick,  Lorraine; 
but  the  truth  is  so  plain  that  I  can't  deceive 
myself  any  longer,  and  yet,  don't  you  see  ?  it  is 
like  giving  up  life  itself  when  one  resigns  one's 
whole  plan  and  scheme  of  life.  I  had  to  give 
up  the  stage  when  my  heart  was  set  on  it;  then, 
because  I  had  succeeded  in  amusing  the  chil- 
dren, I  thought  perhaps  it  was  in  me  to  write 
the  stories  I  had  grown  used  to  telling,  but  it 
was  the  instinct  of  the  actor,  not  of  the  creator, 
that  made  me  tell  my  stories  well.  I  don't 
know  exactly  what  the  sting  of  death  may  be, 
but  the  sting  of  life  is  to  write  'Failure'  when 
one  has  tried  with  all  one's  heart  and  soul. 
1 20 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

If  I  had  written  a  euthanasia  story  it  would 
have  been  about  some  one  who  realized  that 
the  light  of  the  whole  world  dies  with  the 
setting  sun.  Don't  try  to  comfort  me;  not  yet, 
not  yet." 


121 


XVI 

AS  the  time  drew  near  that  was  to  see  the 
beginning  of  the  case  of  The  State  vs.  Roy 
Collins,  Arthur  Brown,  et  al.,  Ted  grew  nervous, 
and  one  Sunday,  not  long  before  the  momentous 
day,  he  and  Lorraine  took  the  long  journey  to 
the  suburban  town  near  where  the  tragedy  had 
taken  place,  and  walked  out  to  the  small  wood. 
The  leaves  were  falling,  and  the  thickets  silent, 
the  birds  flown.  They  sat  down  on  a  log  and 
recounted  the  case  to  each  other. 

"There  is  one  thing  in  which  I  have  been 
disappointed  with  myself,"  said  Ted  discon- 
tentedly. "  I  think  I  have  done  fairly  well  with 
the  rest  of  it,  but  so  far  I  haven't  been  able 
to  find  any  clue  to  the  real  criminal.  In  this 
kind  of  an  affair  there  is  a  lack  of  motive  that 
is  baffling  to  begin  with,  and  yet  I  am  certain 
that  there  was  a  motive;  that's  where  Harrison 
and  I  differ.  He  intends  to  dwell  upon  the 
probability  that  it  was  an  accident,  as  people 
often  went  hunting  about  here.  The  Browns 
122 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

believe  it  was  an  accident;  they  say  people  often 
shot  at  targets,  or  made  targets  of  the  trees, 
and  they  think  it  was  a  stray  shot.  Poor  little 
Patsy  Riordan;  it  wasn't  worth  the  while  of  the 
detective  force  to  track  his  slayer,  and  I'm 
afraid  I'm  not  a  combination  of  M.  Lecoq  and 
Sherlock  Holmes." 

"I  don't  believe  it  was  an  accident  either," 
answered  Lorraine.  "  I've  always  had  a  theory 
about  this  case,  but,  as  in  another  instance,  I 
have  no  better  reason  than  'because,'  and  I'll 
admit  that  is  not  much  of  a  reason." 

"Let's  have  it  anyhow,"  said  Ted,  idly  turn- 
ing over  the  leaves  with  his  foot.  "We  are 
sitting  on  the  log  where  the  boys  sat  who  wit- 
nessed the  murder,  according  to  Willie  Hinck- 
ley's  confession,  and  Patsy  was  lying  over  there 
under  that  tree." 

Lorraine  looked  at  the  tree  curiously.  It  was 
not  very  large,  and  about  eight  or  nine  feet  from 
the  ground  one  bare  branch  stood  out  almost 
at  right  angles  with  the  tree. 

"  Do  you  respectable  New  Yorkers  ever  have 
lynchings  ?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  I  don't  remember,"  he  said,  racking 
123 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

his  brain  to  recall  an  instance.  "I  suppose 
we  have  had  them  at  some  time  in  our  career. 
Men  are  brothers  down  under  their  skin,  North 
and  South,  East  and  West,  same  as  the  colonel's 
lady  and  Judy.  What  made  you  think  of  it  ?" 

"The  tree,"  answered  Lorraine.  "Do  you 
like  ghost  stories  ?  No  ?  There's  no  account- 
ing for  tastes.  Now  I  do;  also  I  once  compiled 
a  scrap-book  of  superstitions,  and  one  section 
of  it  dealt  with  legends  and  strange  tales  about 
trees.  One  doesn't  have  to  believe  them  to 
find  them  interesting.  If  you  will  look  at  that 
tree  carefully,  you  will  see  that  it  is  just  the 
kind  of  a  tree  a  lynching  party  would  seek. 
You  will  perceive  also  that  while  the  other 
trees  are  still  fairly  green,  that  one  has  fallen 
into  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf.  One  shake  and 
it  would  stand  denuded  of  even  its  last  leaf." 

"I  don't  see  the  ghost,"  said  Ted. 

Lorraine  sank  her  voice  to  a  sepulchral 
whisper.  "When  a  tree  has  been  made  ac- 
cessory before  or  even  after  the  fact,  particeps 
criminis,  I  believe  you  call  it,  in  a  crime,  it 
never  gets  over  it.  Its  nature  is  too  fine  to 
withstand  the  shock.  There  is  a  haunted  apple 
124 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

tree  in  a  Massachusetts  town  under  which  a 
murder  was  committed;  the  apples  it  bears  are 
streaked  with  crimson  to  the  core,  and  any 
Southerner  can  tell  you  that  the  tree  that  has 
served  as  a  gallows  dies  and  stands  a  blasted 
monument  to  the  evil  that  men  do." 

"I've  often  thought,"  Ted  answered,  "what 
it  would  mean  if  inanimate  nature  had  a  voice. 
In  France  they  believe  it  has,  to  a  certain  extent. 
You  know  no  one  can  be  convicted  of  a  crime 
without  being  confronted  with  his  prey,  and 
the  victim  is  kept  in  the  morgue  for  a  year  or 
so,  perhaps,  just  as  he  is  found,  that  the  *  con- 
frontation,' as  they  call  it,  may  be  possible. 
When  there  is  a  very  awful  murder  they  repro- 
duce the  scene  of  it:  if  it  was  in  a  room,  they 
take  all  the  furniture  and  make  another  room 
just  like  it,  and  when  they  have  the  man  they 
believe  guilty  they  take  him  down  into  this 
horrible  subterranean  place,  and  suddenly  con- 
front him  with  the  scene  and  the  victim,  just 
as  he  left  it.  Miss  Brent  was  telling  me  about 
such  a  room  that  she  saw  in  the  morgue  in 
Paris  when  she  was  there.  They  say  nine- 
tenths  of  the  criminals  will  break  down  and 
125 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

confess  under  these  circumstances.  Now  that 
tree  could  tell  the  truth  if  it  could  speak,  for 
whatever  was  done,  was  done  under  its  very 
branches." 

"The  tree  isn't  dying  for  nothing,"  said  Lor- 
raine. "It  knows  more  than  it  tells." 

"Naturally,  since  it  knows  all  and  tells  noth- 
ing. Let's  go  and  consult  the  dryad,  if  she 
hasn't  fled." 

They  walked  across  the  dry,  hard  ground, 
with  its  litter  of  rustling  leaves  and  yellowing 
grass,  and  Lorraine  leaned  against  the  trunk 
of  the  tree  while  Ted  caught  the  branch  and 
with  a  quick  jerk  swung  himself  up  amidst 
a  shower  of  yellow  leaves.  Lorraine  turned 
toward  him,  her  face  pale  and  startled. 

"Something  dropped  inside  the  tree,"  she 
said  in  a  frightened  voice. 

"What?"  he  cried  excitedly,  clinging  to  the 
branch. 

"Reach  over  to  the  crotch,"  she  said,  "and 
see  if  there  isn't  a  hollow." 

He  slid  along  the  drooping  branch  until  he 
reached  the  trunk  of  the  tree.  "Yes,"  he  said, 
"there's  a  small  hole."  He  thrust  his  hand 
126 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

into  it,  and  the  arm  to  the  elbow.  "The whole 
trunk  must  be  hollow,"  he  said;  "I  might  have 
known  it  by  looking  at  it." 

Lorraine  was  looking  at  the  tree  fixedly. 
"That  tree  holds  your  clue,"  she  said.  "When 
you  shook  it  something  heavy  fell.  Don't  you 
remember  the  inquest  showed  that  the  wound 
was  made  with  a  thirty-two  caliber  cartridge, 
and  one  of  the  things  that  struck  me  first  was 
that  the  boys  all  told  different  stories  about  the 
gun,  and  none  of  any  kind  was  ever  found  ? 
The  detectives  didn't  even  find  a  gun  in  Rior- 
dan's  house,  though  the  neighbors  say  he  used 
to  shoot  at  the  mark  too." 

"You  don't  mean  —  oh,  but  if  it  was  a  gun, 
why  didn't  it  go  off  when  it  fell  ?  Why  didn't 
whoever  put  it  here  take  it  away  ?  Why 
didn't  it  fall  to  the  bottom  in  the  first  place  ? 
It  must  have  been  just  a  piece  of  rotted  wood." 

"  No,"  she  insisted.  "  It  fell  heavily.  It  did- 
n't go  off  because  the  trigger  had  been  pulled 
and  the  hammer  was  down  on  an  empty  car- 
tridge. Whoever  put  it  there  couldn't  reach 
it  to  take  it  away;  it  probably  slipped  from  his 
fingers  and  caught  midway  on  wood  that  has 
127 


UNDER   THE   HARROW 

rotted  since,  so  that  when  you  shook  the  tree  it 
gave  way.  At  first  he  did  not  dare  come  to 
this  spot,  haunted  both  by  the  detectives  and 
his  child's  blood  —  " 

"You  don't  think  Riordan  did  it  ?"  Ted  cried. 

"I  don't  think,"  she  answered  quickly.  "I 
don't  think  anything,  except  that  this  tree  can 
tell  us  what  we  want  to  know,  but  not  being 
Indians  we  don't  carry  tomahawks  with  us, 
and  how  are  we  to  find  out  ?  We  may  have 
been  watched.  We  can't  both  leave  to  go  find 
a  hatchet,  even  if  we  could  account  for  such  a 
singular  request.  How  about  your  knife  ?  The 
bark  on  this  side  looks  thin,  and  as  if  the  trunk 
under  it  might  be  rotten." 

Ted  drew  out  his  knife  —  a  rough-handled, 
strenuous  looking  affair,  reminiscent  of  his 
youth  —  and  set  to  work.  First  he  cut  off  a 
piece  of  the  bark,  large  enough  to  allow  his 
hand  to  pass  through,  and  placed  it  carefully 
on  one  side.  "We'll  hide  our  tracks  if  we 
can,"  he  said,  and  then  began  hacking  away. 
It  was  slow  work,  and  the  sun  had  set  and  the 
moon  was  rising  before  the  sound  wood  was 
carved  away  and  his  knife  struck  through.  In 
128 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

a  minute  more  he  had  thrust  in  his  hand  and 
brought  out  what  they  expected,  a  rusted  re- 
volver, thirty-two  caliber.  As  they  bent  over 
it  in  the  growing  moonlight,  two  initials  rudely 
carved  in  the  handle  were  plainly  visible,  - 
"P.  R."  They  looked  in  each  other's  faces  in 
silence.  Then  Ted  carefully  put  the  chips  he 
had  made  inside  the  tree,  slipped  the  bark  back 
in  place,  fastened  it  with  a  few  tiny  wedges, 
and  they  started  homeward. 

"Still,  it  doesn't  prove  anything,"  said  Ted. 

"No,"  she  admitted,  "it  doesn't,  but  it  gives 
a  clue.     Now  we  must  find  the  motive." 

"I've  got  the  motive,"  he  answered  slowly. 
"I  never  told  you  or  any  one,  but  I  have  the 
same  feeling  about  Riordan  that  you  have,  and 
I  tried  to  learn  all  I  could  about  him.  This  is 
his  second  wife.  Patsy's  mother  died  over  a 
year  ago;  her  life  had  been  insured  in  Patsy's 
behalf.  It  was  only  a  small  sum,  say  five  hun- 
dred dollars,  but  to  a  man  like  Riordan  it  would 
have  been  enough.  Besides,  he  had  an  un- 
governable temper.  He  had  the  name  of  treat- 
ing his  family  badly,  and  Patsy's  body  bore  the 
marks  of  his  anger  when  it  was  buried.  But  I 
129 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

couldn't  get  any  further.   There  was  no  evidence 
against  him,  and  he  was  a  wreck  of  misery  — 

"Or  fear,"  suggested  Lorraine. 

—  at  the  preliminary  hearing;  I'll  have  to  talk 
this  over  with  Harrison,  and  try  to  figure  it  out." 

Lorraine  grew  frigid  at  once.  "I  hope  you 
will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  said.  "Don't 
you  see  here  is  your  chance  for  a  'confronta- 
tion '  scene  of  your  own  ?  You've  got  as  much 
at  stake  as  he  has  in  this  case;  don't  give  him 
the  best  dramatic  situation  in  it  to  make  copy 
out  of,  and  a  reputation  for  himself.  Keep 
still,  and  see  what  more  you  can  learn;  find 
out  if  Riordan  doesn't  intend  to  leave  here  as 
soon  as- this  trial  is  over." 

"Well,  since  this  is  mostly  your  contribution 
to  the  case,  and  but  for  you  I  wouldn't  have 
had  it  at  all,  I  think  I  ought  to  regard  you  as 
senior  counsel,  and  if  you  don't  want  anything 
said,  I'll  say  nothing.  But  what  a  fearful  thing 
it  is;  can  you  realize  it  ?" 

"From  battle,  murder,  and  sudden  death,'' 
half  whispered  Lorraine,  and  they  finished  to- 
gether in  hushed  voices,  "'Good  Lord,  deliver 
us!'" 

130 


XVII 

~*HE  Riordan  case  had  been  nearly  forgotten 
long  before  it  was  reached  on  the  docket. 
Lorraine's  article  had  taken  some  of  the  spec- 
tacular features  away  from  it,  from  the  jour- 
nalistic standpoint,  and  if  the  prosecution  had 
developed  anything  new  or  sensational  it  had 
kept  it  out  of  the  papers.  The  poverty  of  the 
families  concerned  made  it  a  foregone  con- 
clusion that  the  accused  would  be  summarily 
disposed  of  and  hustled  off  to  prison  and  re- 
formatory with  that  through-train  speed  that  is 
apt,  in  such  cases,  to  offset  the  usual  law's  delays. 
There  were  other  capital  cases  involving  repu- 
tations, property,  what  not,  defended  by  men 
who  had  established  professional  positions. 
The  curious  found  more  interesting  criminals 
than  the  half-dozen  frightened  children. 

The  courtroom  was  large,  dingy,  and  bare, 
and  when  the  Riordan  case  was  called  the 
spectators'  seats  were  nearly  empty.  A  few 
scholarly  looking  men  were  present,  evidently 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

prepared  to  make  a  psychological  study  of  the 
accused,  who  sat  at  one  side  of  the  door,  just 
within  the  railing.  The  younger  children  had 
little  comprehension  of  the  occasion,  but  as 
often  as  the  accustomed  smile  came  to  their 
faces  one  glance  at  their  parents,  sitting  by 
them  in  stony,  white-faced  misery,  drove  it 
away,  leaving  in  its  place  an  expression  of 
mingled  surprise  and  fear. 

Roy  Collins  was  deadly  pallid  and  emaciated. 
His  mother,  a  nervous  little  woman,  sat  by  him, 
holding  his  slim,  white  hand  in  hers,  —  the  same 
awkward  paw  that  used  to  be  so  brown  and  so 
seldom  clean.  There  was  a  hard,  defiant  glitter 
in  her  eyes,  and  scarlet  spots  burned  on  her 
cheeks.  The  boy's  father,  on  the  other  side 
of  him,  looked  broken  and  worn. 

Mrs.  Brown,  seated  by  Arthur,  with  the  little 
boys  about  them,  or  sitting  on  their  father's 
knees,  made  no  attempt  to  keep  back  the  tears. 
Some  neighbors  who  had  come  with  them 
looked  about  curiously,  and  then  turned  back 
to  the  pathetic  little  group  with  sympathetic 
faces. 

Farther  away  from  the  railing  that  shut  out 
132 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

the  spectators  sat  Peter  Riordan,  haggard  of 
countenance,  his  head  bowed  on  his  hands. 

As  soon  as  the  case  began  it  was  evident  that 
the  acting  district  attorney  did  not  believe  in 
killing  flies  with  a  steam-hammer.  He  felt  sure 
the  case  was  to  be  an  easy  victory,  and  re- 
garded Harrison  with  disdain  and  Ted  as  a 
mere  babe  in  arms,  who  knew  little  and  would 
not  dare  to  do  anything,  even  if  he  did  not 
forget  the  small  amount  of  legal  lore  at  his 
command.  It  was  not  until  Ted  had  chal- 
lenged the  third  juror  "for  cause,"  because  he 
admitted  a  scientific  interest  in  penology,  that 
the  prosecution  realized  that  Ted  was  not  quite 
so  young  as  he  looked. 

True,  Teddy  had  never  had  a  case,  but  his 
knowledge  of  court  practice  was  not  wholly 
gleaned  from  the  printed  page.  Having  no 
suits  of  his  own  to  attend  to,  he  had  made  it 
a  practice  to  spend  hours  every  week  in  the 
different  courts  of  the  city,  watching  the  con- 
duct of  any  trial  of  importance  that  might  be 
going  on.  Fresh  from  his  books  he  appre- 
ciated nice  points  as  they  arose,  and  the  prac- 
tical determination  of  moot  questions,  before 
133 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

his  eyes,  was  worth  much.  Nevertheless,  the 
morning  the  Riordan  case  began  he  was  on  an 
extreme  tension  that  was  well-nigh  intolerable. 
He  had  ideas  of  his  own  of  the  sympathy  to  be 
accorded  to  the  younger  members  of  his  pro- 
fession, and  also  a  firm  belief  that  no  lawyer 
should  lose  his  first  case;  he  should  not  take  a 
case  for  his  debut  in  which  he  could  not  believe 
with  all  his  mind  and  strength  that  justice  and 
equity,  which  are  legally  quite  different,  be- 
longed to  his  client.  He  had  seen  men  of 
experience  lose,  simply  for  lack  of  preparation; 
a  man  with  unlimited  time,  he  thought,  should 
not  fail  from  this  cause.  While  he  believed 
he  would  succeed  in  clearing  the  accused  boys, 
he  could  not  fail  to  recognize  that  this  was  not 
at  all  the  kind  of  a  case  upon  which  he  had 
relied  to  prove  his  theory;  there  was  so  little 
law  and  so  much  fact  in  it.  Neither  did  he 
trust  to  the  indifference  with  which  district 
attorneys  often  prepare  and  try  their  cases. 
Nash's  term  of  office  was  nearing  its  conclu- 
sion, and  is  not  a  prosecuting  attorney  known 
by  the  number  of  convictions  he  makes  ?  How- 
ever unique  the  suit  might  be  from  a  senti- 
134 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

mental  standpoint,  he  knew  that  the  formalities 
of  the  trial  would  present  little  beyond  the 
usual  routine,  saving  the  one  feature  upon 
which,  more  than  anything  else,  he  was  re- 
lying. 

When  the  case  was  called  for  trial  Harrison 
was  absent,  and  Ted  secured  a  brief  delay, 
and  sent  a  messenger  after  him.  It  had  been 
reached  sooner  than  was  expected,  still  he  was 
a  little  annoyed  that  Harrison  should  have  taken 
any  chances,  and  after  half  an  hour  proceeded 
to  trial  without  him. 

In  the  selection  of  the  jury  he  took  extraor- 
dinary care.  The  district  attorney  was  inclined 
to  ridicule  his  close  examination  of  some  of 
the  panel,  and  Harrison,  when  he  hurried  in 
an  hour  late,  was  a  little  impatient  aho,  but 
Ted  went  on  in  his  own  way.  He  exercised 
the  right  of  peremptory  challenge  in  several 
cases  where  he  believed  that  the  would-be 
juror  had  more  interest  in  proving  theories  than 
in  judging  mankind,  and  also  excused  several 
young,  unmarried  men.  He  was  after  the  milk 
of  human  kindness,  and  he  believed  it  would 
be  more  likely  to  be  found  among  those  who 
135 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

had  boys  of  their  own.  When  the  twelve  good 
men  and  true  were  chosen,  he  was  quite  sat- 
isfied. 

As  the  prosecuting  attorney  warmed  to  his 
work,  his  voice  rang  out  through  the  halls  of 
the  courthouse  and  some  of  the  reporters 
straggled  in.  He  dwelt  upon  the  enormity  of 
the  crime,  and  the  degeneracy  of  the  accused, 
who,  he  said,  had  been  the  bane  of  the  neigh- 
borhood. Their  bodies  had  been  ruined  by 
cigarette  smoking,  and  their  imaginations  in- 
flamed by  reading  pernicious  books.  Though 
young  in  years  they  were  old  in  vice,  and  Patsy 
Riordan  had  incurred  their  ill  will  by  the  very 
fact  that  he  was  a  more  than  ordinarily  good 
child.  True  to  their  vicious  instincts,  they  had 
murdered  him  in  cold  blood.  He  called  atten- 
tion to  the  father  of  this  victim  of  youthful  de- 
pravity, a  mere  wreck  of  his  erstwhile  manhood, 
and  dilated  upon  his  suffering  when  he  found 
his  only  child  foully  murdered.  He  set  forth 
what  he  expected  to  prove  with  such  certainty 
that  Walter  Davis,  a  Herald  reporter  sitting 
next  to  Lorraine,  whispered,  "Well,  it's  all  over 
with  your  young  friends,  the  Jameses,  except 
136 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

sending   for   the   hurry-up   wagon   and   giving 
them  some  new  clothes." 

Teddy  wanted  Harrison  to  make  the  opening 
address  for  the  defense;  but  Harrison,  who 
wished  to  have  the  close,  insisted  that  he,  as  he 
had  been  there  from  the  beginning,  should  do 
this.  The  young  man  felt  the  dirty  floor  of  the 
courtroom  roll  under  his  feet  like  the  ground- 
swell  of  an  ocean  steamer.  The  judge  and 
jury  were  an  indistinct  blur,  his  mouth  felt  like 
an  advertisement  of  some  one's  liquid  glue,  and 
his  voice  was  gone  beyond  recall.  He  saw  a 
white  blotch  over  by  the  door,  and  as  he  strug- 
gled to  his  feet  a  suppressed  sob  broke  the  still- 
ness of  the  room.  The  white  blotch  turned 
into  the  face  of  Mrs.  Collins,  and  the  sob  from 
Mrs.  Brown  was  the  bugle  call  that  brought 
Ted  to  his  feet  and  his  senses,  his  wits  and  his 
voice,  all  at  once.  Contrary  to  the  expecta- 
tions of  the  district  attorney,  he  did  not  go  into 
an  extended  speech,  but  contented  himself  with 
a  general  denial  of  the  guilt  of  his  clients,  and 
a  few  sarcastic  references  to  the  charge  of  the 
prosecution  that  the  children  were  homeless 
vagabonds.  He  called  the  attention  of  the 
137 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

jury  to  the  fact  that  the  parents  of  the  boys 
were  in  court,  suffering  as  much,  perhaps,  on 
account  of  the  unjust  accusation  of  their  chil- 
dren, their  months  of  imprisonment  on  an  un- 
founded charge,  as  even  the  unhappy  father  of 
the  murdered  boy.  When  he  sat  down  again, 
Walter  Davis  remarked  to  Lorraine,  "This 
case  may  be  worth  as  much  as  eight  lines;  I'll 
pass  the  word  along  for  the  fellows  to  play  it 
up  a  little.  Your  young  friend  isn't  such  a  fool 
as  he  might  be,  judging  from  his  being  so  hand- 
some. We'll  just  casually  remark  that  he's  on 
earth;"  and  thus  Ted  received  his  first  rec- 
ognition from  the  Fourth  Estate.  The  court 
adjourned  until  the  next  day. 


138 


XVIII 

TX/HHEN  the  court  reconvened  the  next  morn- 
ing there  was  some  question  in  regard  to 
swearing  the  children.  Willie  Hinckley,  the 
boy  who  had  confessed  to  being  a  witness  of  the 
murder,  and  who  had  rescinded  his  confession 
afterward,  was  the  first  witness  produced  by  the 
prosecution. 

The  judge  called  the  lad  to  him,  and  got 
from  him  a  fragmentary  statement  of  his  views 
concerning  the  nature  of  oaths.  He  did  not 
permit  the  boy  to  be  sworn.  Ted  looked  at  the 
judge  attentively.  He  remembered  that  some 
one  had  told  him  that  the  judge  had  once 
been  compared  to  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  from 
that  good  hour  that  he  had  been  trying  to  live 
up  to  and  increase  the  resemblance.  He  was  a 
very  tall  man,  with  a  rather  shambling  frame, 
and  shoulders  that  had  a  charitable,  earthly 
stoop.  The  resemblance  ended  there;  other- 
wise the  judge  was  distinctly  handsome,  and  his 
manner  was  so  patient  that  Ted  found  himself 
139 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

wondering  whether  by  any  chance  the  judge 
had  some  not  over-saintly  boys  of  his  own.  He 
decided  that  he  was  glad  to  have  his  case  before 
a  judge  who  wanted  to  be  like  Lincoln. 

Hinckley  was  a  lad  of  twelve,  and  having  told 
his  story  and  taken  it  back  several  times,  he 
now  retold  it  concisely  and  clearly.  Lorraine, 
sitting  at  the  reporters'  table,  looked  over  at  Ted 
anxiously.  Harrison  conducted  the  cross-ex- 
amination; it  seemed  to  her  prejudiced  mind 
that  his  manner  was  perfunctory.  As  the  boy 
was  about  to  leave  the  stand,  Ted  stopped  him 
a  moment. 

"You  say  that  Patsy  was  lying  down  when 
he  was  shot  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,  with  his  arm  thrown  over  his  head," 
answered  the  boy.  "Roy,  he  stood  at  his  feet 
and  fired." 

"  How  far  was  the  muzzle  of  the  gun  from  his 
head?" 

"Not  more  than  a  foot." 

"Oh,  it  was  a  gun  then;  can  you  tell  us  what 
kind  of  a  gun  it  was  ?  I  mean  did  it  have  a  long 
barrel  or  was  it  a  revolver  ?" 

"It  was  an  old  shotgun,"  said  the  boy, 
140 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

pleased    with    the    sensation    he   was    making. 
"We  often  played  with  it." 

"Did  it  belong  to  Roy?"  asked  Ted. 

"Why  —  yes,  I  suppose  so;  he  always  had 
it." 

"Do  you  remember  seeing  him  load  the  gun  ? 
What  did  he  load  it  with  and  how  ?" 

"He  had   some  shot  and   a  paper  wad;  he 
loaded  it  from  the  muzzle." 

"And  tamped  it  down  with  a  ramrod  ?" 

"I  don't  remember." 

"You   would   know  the  gun   if  you   saw  it 
again  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir!" 

"That's  all." 

The  witnesses  brought  to  the  stand  on  behalf 
of  the  prosecution  were  chiefly  those  who  had 
testified  at  the  coroner's  inquest.  Ted  expected 
and  found  little  new  in  their  evidence.  The 
trial  had  not  lasted  long  before  Ted  was  con- 
vinced of  the  determination  of  the  prosecution  to 
convict.  Residents  of  the  Riordan  neighbor- 
hood were  put  on  the  stand  to  prove  the  boys 
incorrigibles,  and  they  naturally  made  some 
impression  on  the  jury.  Harrison  did  his  best 
141 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

in  the  cross-examination,  but  it  could  not  be 
denied  that  the  state  had  a  strong  case.  To 
be  sure,  it  rested  on  the  statement  of  a  boy 
who  had  shown  himself  capable  of  perjury, 
and  was  backed  up  by  circumstantial  evidence 
only;  but  even  so,  Ted  knew  that  it  more  than 
offset  the  meager  amount  of  direct  evidence  he 
could  present,  were  he  compelled  to  put  wit- 
nesses on  the  stand,  a  contingency  which  he 
hoped  to  prevent.  He  felt  that  success  lay  in 
showing  that  the  prosecution  had  indicted  the 
wrong  persons. 

Next  to  Hinckley's  statement,  nothing  told 
so  heavily  against  the  accused  as  the  statements 
of  several  members  of  the  police  department 
concerning  the  confessions  alleged  to  have  been 
made  by  Tommy  and  Jimmy  Brown,  and  the 
attempt  of  the  prosecution  to  introduce  them  as 
evidence  led  to  a  heated  discussion.  These 
depositions  had  been  published  with  sensational 
headlines  at  the  time  of  the  arrest  of  the  boys, 
and  the  prosecution  made  an  herculean  effort 
to  have  them  admitted. 

When  Ted  cross-examined  the  official  who 
had  sworn  that  he  had  received  the  confessions, 
142 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

he  began  by  asking,  "How  long  did  you  have 
these  children  in  jail  before  they  'confessed'  ?" 

"About  three  days,"  the  man  replied. 

"Had  to  sweat  them  several  times,  and  several 
hours  at  a  time  ?" 

"Yes  — a  little." 

"Isn't  it  a  fact  that  you  told  Detective  Howe 
that  you  'spent  three  hours  over  that  rickety 
young  one,  and  were  as  limp  as  a  rag,  but  you 
had  it'  ?"  asked  Ted. 

The  man  colored  angrily,  but  controlled  him- 
self. "Not  that  I  remember,"  he  said  inso- 
lently. 

"  Both  of  the  boys  told  you  Roy  Collins  shot 
Patsy?" 

"Both  of  them." 

"Isn't  it  a  fact  that  the  sick  boy  said  he  had 
a  musket,  a  single-barreled  musket?" 

"I  don't  recall  exactly." 

"Here  is  your  sworn  affidavit,  in  which  one 
boy  makes  that  statement." 

"Well,  he  might  have,"  said  the  detective. 

"But  isn't  it  also  a  fact  that  Tommy  Brown 
said  Roy  had  a  revolver,  a  little  revolver  that 
belonged  to  his  mother  ?  Allow  me  to  refresh 
H3 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

your  memory;"  hafiding  him   the   typewritten 
statement. 

"They  all  agreed  oh  a  gun,  an*  the  shootin'; 
the  particular  kind  don't  cut  no  ice." 

Ted  turned  to  the  jury.  "I  trust  the  jury 
will  remember  that  statement,"  he  said.  "If 
the  court  please,  it  seems  to  me  this  testimony 
is  entirely  incompetent.  Here  we  are  told  of 
three  kinds  of  guns  used  to  assassinate  this 
unfortunate  child.  There  isn't  a  man  in  this 
courtroom  who  owned  a  gun  in  his  boyhood 
who  couldn't  describe  it  accurately,  to  the  kind 
of  sights,  the  maker's  name  and  the  wood  in 
the  stock.  Boys  have  not  changed  so  much  in 
the  past  quarter  of  a  century  as  all  that.  If 
the  prosecution  intends  to  rest  its  case  on  a 
gun  that  may  have  been  a  toy  cannon,  a  blun- 
derbuss, or  a  Sharp's  rifle,  we  want  to  know 
it." 

"Never  you  mind  about  the  prosecution," 
said  the  district  attorney.  "We'll  attend  to 
that.  Your  Honor,  do  I  understand  the  ob- 
jection to  the  introduction  of  these  affidavits  is 
overruled  ?" 

"Objection  sustained,"  said  the  judge. 
144 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Ted  leaned  back  in  his  chair  for  the  first 
time. 

"Mr.  Riordan,"  said  the  district  attorney, 
"you  will  be  sworn  and  take  the  stand." 

The  man  who  shambled  forward,  held  up 
his  hand  and  then  dropped  heavily  into  the 
chair  on  the  witness-stand,  was.  of  about  middle 
age.  His  hair  was  grizzled  at  the  temples,  and 
his  face  haggard  and  wretched.  He  had  the 
instant  sympathy  of  the  spectators,  and  the 
newspaper  people  looked  at  his  miserable  face, 
listened  to  his  low,  strained  voice  and  began  to 
make  copy.  The  district  attorney  was  a  past 
master  in  the  art  of  extracting  evidence,  and 
under  his  skilful  questioning  Mr.  Riordan  told 
a  story  that  sent  many  a  hand  upon  a  surrep- 
titious search  for  a  handkerchief.  When  the 
bundle  of  clothing  was  placed  on  the  stand, 
and  the  torn  trousers,  faded  shirt,  and  the  cap 
laid  on  his  knee,  the  man  broke  down  and, 
hiding  his  face  in  his  hands,  the  tears  fell  upon 
the  pathetic  little  heap  of  garments.  At  that 
moment  the  prosecution  had  it  all  its  own  way. 

A  sob  so  hard  and  dry  that  it  seemed  to  have 
wrenched  itself  free  from  the  very  soul  of  the 
H5 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

man  broke  from  the  father  of  Roy  Collins. 
He  turned  this  way  and  that,  as  if  to  escape 
from  this  torture  chamber,  but  the  room  was 
crowded.  He  sat  down  again  and  bent  his 
white  face  on  the  shoulder  of  the  little  woman 
beside  him,  and,  reaching  his  hand  across  her 
lap,  caught  that  of  his 'boy.  She  patted  the  two 
hands  gently  and  smiled. 

It  was  an  instant's  glimpse  into  the  terrible 
drama  of  life,  but  it  was  a  reminder  that  all 
the  sorrow  was  not  confined  to  the  prosecu- 
tion's side  of  the  case,  nor  all  the  woe  endured 
by  one  parent.  "Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his 
children,'"  said  Lorraine  to  Walter  Davis. 

"I  suppose  that's  Bible,"  he  answered. 
"Anything  later  would  have  been,  'Like  as  a 
mother."1 

Up  to  this  time  the  prosecution  had  proved 
that  many  of  the  neighbors  did  not  consider 
the  accused  boys  beyond  suspicion.  Ted  had 
tried  to  show  that  they  were  no  more  mischiev- 
ous than  boys  usually,  and  was  prepared  to 
put  witnesses  on  the  stand,  including  teachers 
and  Sunday-school  teachers  to  show  that  there 
was  nothing  about  them  to  justify  these  senti- 
146 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

ments,  but  the  value  of  negative  testimony  is 
slight.  Hinckley's  story  had  made  a  profound 
impression,  which  had  not  been  destroyed  by 
his  subsequent  confusion.  Mr.  Riordan's  tes- 
timony was  brief  but  conclusive.  His  evident 
suffering  prompted  the  district  attorney  to  ask 
no  more  questions  than  necessary.  He  told  his 
story  brokenly.  Patsy  had  gone  after  the  cow, 
as  usual.  He  did  not  return,  and  when  supper 
time  came  he  went  to  look  for  the  child,  and 
found  him  cold  and  dead  under  the  tree.  There 
was  a  shot  in  the  back  of  his  head  and  some 
bruises  on  his  body.  He  had  notified  the  police, 
and  the  day  of  the  inquest  Willie  Hinckley  had 
come  forward  and  told  his  story. 

As  he  sat  nervously  stroking  the  clothes  which 
he  had  identified  as  those  worn  by  Patsy,  Ted 
almost  feared  for  his  theory.  Either  the  man 
was  a  consummate  actor  or  he  was  innocent. 
Possibly  remorse  might  account  for  this  atti- 
tude. Any  attempt  to  badger  the  witness 
would  cost  Ted's  clients  dear. 

Ted  began  his  cross-examination  very  con- 
siderately. Riordan  admitted  that  the  boy  and 
his  stepmother  did  not  get  on  well,  and  that 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

he  was  often  late  to  meals,  which  was  a  cause 
of  friction.  Yes,  Patsy  had  known  and  played 
with  the  Brown  boys  and  Roy.  No,  he  had 
not  objected.  Where  had  they  lived  before 
moving  to  the  flats  ? 

"If  your  Honor  please," said  the  district  attor- 
ney, "this  has  no  bearing  on  the  case;  I  object 
to  the  question  as  irrelevant  and  immaterial." 

The  judge  looked  at  Ted  kindly.  "I  am 
sure,"  he  said,  "that  in  his  anxiety  to  serve  his 
clients  the  lawyer  for  the  defense  will  not  waste 
time.  The  witness  may  answer  the  question." 

Something  had  come  over  Riordan.  There 
was  an  ugly,  wolfish  look  in  his  eyes.  "In 
Illinois,"  he  snarled. 

"How  did  you  come  to  leave  there  ?" 

"I  don't  know  as  I  have  to  say,"  he  answered. 

Ted's  voice  was  almost  caressing,  it  was  so 
gentle.  "  I  have  here  a  newspaper  that  I  would 
like  to  have  marked  'Exhibit  D,'"  he  said;  "it 
contains  an  interesting  account  of  the  white- 
capping  of  Peter  Riordan  by  his  neighbors,  in 
return  for  his  habitual  abuse  of  his  wife  and 
child,  Patsy.  Have  you  anything  to  say,  Mr. 
Riordan?" 

148 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

"It's  a  damned  lie,"  shouted  the  man;  "I 
might  have  slapped,  but  I  never  beat  her." 

"But  you  were  white-capped;  you  do  not 
deny  that  ?" 

The  man  sat  in  sullen  silence. 

"Mrs.  Riordan  died  shortly  before  you  moved 
to  the  flats  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Isn't  it  a  fact  that  the  insurance  company 
made  some  objection  to  paying  the  policy  on 
her  life?" 

"Have  I  got  to  answer  all  these  fool  ques- 
tions?" asked  Riordan. 

"  You  will  answer  the  question."  The  judge's 
voice  was  stern. 

"I  don't  remember,"  he  said. 

"No?  Your  memory  is  bad  at  times;  well, 
if  necessary  I  can  prove  by  members  of  the 
company  that  they  did  object  and  demanded 
an  inquest." 

"Yes,  and  what  did  it  prove?"  snapped 
Riordan. 

"It  proved  that  your  abuse  of  your  family 
was  so  habitual  that  all  your  neighbors  knew 
of  it;  if  I  remember  rightly  the  company  took 
149 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

the  case  into  court,  and  when  the  money  was 
paid  over  it  was  not  paid  to  you,  was  it  ?" 

"It  was  for  Patsy,"  answered  Riordan,  con- 
trolling himself  with  a  mighty  effort,  while  the 
attorney  came  to  his  rescue  with  an  objection 
which  was  overruled. 

"Say,  the  old  judge  is  all  right,"  whispered 
Davis  to  Lorraine.  "Here's  a  chance  to  help 
Nash  get  re-elected,  and  instead  of  that  the  old 
fellow's  just  a-ladling  out  justice." 

"Then  Patsy  was  heir  to  this  insurance 
money?"  persisted  Ted. 

"Yes." 

"Was  his  life  insured,  too  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Has  that  policy  been  paid  yet  ?"  asked  Ted. 

"Not  yet,"  said  Riordan. 

Ted  gave  him  a  few  minutes  to  recover  him- 
self, asked  some  inconsequential  questions,  and 
then  said,  "Mr.  Riordan,  hasn't  it  seemed 
strange  to  you  that  all  these  witnesses  have 
described  different  kinds  of  guns  ?" 

"Yes  —  no;  I  don't  know.  It's  all  seemed 
strange." 

"Willie  Hinckley  says  that  Roy  and  the 
150 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

Brown  boys  and  Patsy  often  shot  at  the  target 
with  Roy's  gun;  did  you  ever  see  them  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Did  Patsy  ever  speak  of  their  having  a 
gun?" 

"Not  that  I  remember;  he  might." 

The  night  was  darkening  down,  and  the 
courtroom  was  in  half  twilight.  The  man  had 
stopped  caressing  the  dead  boy's  clothing,  and 
clutched  it  with  fierce,  bony  hands. 

"These  boys  tell  of  a  musket  and  a  shot- 
gun; do  you  remember  that  the  inquest  said 
death  was  caused  by  a  thirty-two  caliber  ball; 
how  do  you  account  for  that  ?" 

"I  suppose  the  boys  made  a  mistake.  They 
might." 

"Don't  you  think  that  would  be  a  singular 
mistake  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  all  guns  are  pretty  much 
alike."  There  was  an  attempt  at  jocularity 
that  was  ghastly. 

"Did  you  ever  happen  to  have  a  gun  ?"  Ted 
asked  quickly. 

"Yes;  I  had  a  revolver  once,  back  in  Illinois," 
said  the  man. 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"You  left  it  there,  I  suppose,  leaving  in  a 
hurry  as  you  did  ?" 

"Yes,"  sullenly. 

"But  you  could  identify  it,  in  spite  of  its 
being  like  thousands  of  others?"  said  Ted. 

"Yes,"  said  Riordan,  "I  could,  because  it 
had  my  initials  cut  in  the  handle,  and  a  groove 
filed  in  the  barrel." 

Ted  rose  and  stepped  close  to  the  witness, 
holding  something  not  plainly  visible  in  the 
half-light.  "Is  that  it?"  he  asked. 

At  that  instant,  when  the  hush  was  death- 
like, the  bailiff  turned  on  the  lights,  and  the 
change  in  the  witness'  face  was  too  evident 
and  too  appalling  for  any  one  to  doubt  its 
meaning. 

"Take  the  pistol  in  your  hand,"  commanded 
Ted  sharply.  "Take  it  in  your  hand,  and  tell 
this  jury  whether  it  is  a  thirty-two  caliber, 
marked  P.  R.,  with  a  groove  filed  in  the  barrel; 
tell  them  whether  it  is  your  revolver,  and  how 
you  hid  it  in  the  tree,  where  Patsy's  dead  body 
was  found." 

Riordan  looked  at  it,  dumb  and  fascinated; 
his  staring  eyes  starting  from  his  head,  the  beads 
152 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

of  sweat  on  his  white  forehead.  The  weapon 
fell  from  his  shaking  fingers  and  the  light  of 
reason  faded  slowly  from  his  face.  "I  didn't 
go  to  do  it!"  he  said  querulously;  "I  didn't  go 
to  do  it."  His  voice  rose  to  a  shriek  and  he 
fell  forward. 

The  scene  in  the  courtroom  was  indescrib- 
able. In  the  midst  of  the  excitement  the  dis- 
trict attorney,  who  was  too  shrewd  a  man  not 
to  rise  to  the  occasion,  stepped  to  the  bar. 

"If  your  Honor  please,"  he  said,  and  the 
sound  of  his  voice  brought  an  instant  hush, 
"from  the  evidence  just  produced  I  am  con- 
vinced that  these  defendants  are  not  guilty  of 
the  crime  with  which  they  are  charged,  and  I 
believe  it  to  be  the  duty  of  this  court  to  dismiss 
them.  I  therefore  desire  to  enter  a  plea  of 
nolle  prosequi,  and  to  file  an  information  against 
Peter  Riordan,  and  upon  my  own  motion  re- 
quest the  court  to  hold  him  until  I  can  file 
additional  information  against  him." 

Then  he  stepped  over  and  congratulated 
Ted. 


153 


XIX 

~\HE  announcement  of  the  engagement  of 
Hope  and  Maurice  Harrison  was  a  shock 
to  Lorraine,  but  as  she  found  herself  in  a  hope- 
less minority  she  said  nothing.  Bess  and  the 
boys  were  delighted  to  have  a  romance  under 
the  same  roof,  and  the  Heavenly  Twins  were 
mildly  pleased.  Louis  set  his  under  jaw  and 
said  little.  Louis  had  never  before  stood  so 
high  in  Lorraine's  good  graces. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  man?"  asked 
Miss  Brent,  when  Lorraine  took  refuge  with 
her.  "Isn't  he  good  enough?" 

"Of  course  he  isn't,"  answered  Miss  Elise. 
"Hardly  any  man  is  good  enough  for  hardly 
any  woman.  Don't  expect  that." 

"It  isn't  that,"  said  Lorraine;  "besides  I 
don't  feel  that  way  about  men;  I've  known  lots 
of  them  good  enough  for  the  best  women.  If 
only  Louis  were  a  few  years  older!  Any  of 
the  Blessed  Boys  are  good  enough,  but  there's 
something  about  this  man  that  makes  me  dis- 

154 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

trust  him.  He  is  too  suave,  too  smiling,  too 
apparently  sincere,  not  to  be  hiding  some- 
thing." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Brent  philosophically,  "the 
best  of  men  always  remind  me  of  Dooley's 
description  of  the  Filipinos:  —  'simple  an' 
kindly  be  nature,  but  crool  an'  bloodthirsty  in 
their  instincts.'  It's  all  a  lottery,  with  few 
prizes  and  many  blanks.  When  I  visit  my 
married  friends  I'm  glad  to  get  back  to  Elise 
and  Rab;  and  since  we  have  had  the  boys  up- 
stairs and  you  down,  I  don't  know  a  family  I'd 
change  with." 

"Don't  go  and  borrow  trouble,  Lorry,"  said 
Miss  Elise  kindly.  "He  has  plenty  of  money, 
hasn't  he  ?  and  he  can  make  her  life  easier; 
besides,  you  might  just  as  well  make  up  your 
mind  to  it;  your  friends  will  never  in  this  world 
marry  the  people  they  obviously  ought  to  marry. 
There's  nothing  on  earth  so  surprising  as  the 
matrimonial  misfits  who  think  they  can't  be 
happy  without  each  other.  All  the  rest  of  us 
know  they'll  never  be  happy  together,  but  other 
people's  experience  never  does  any  good." 

"I  know  it,"  admitted  Lorraine;  "but  Hope 

155 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

is  so  quiet,  so  intense.  She'll  never  get  over  it 
if  things  go  wrong." 

"Didn't  you  like  his  novel  when  she  brought 
it  home  and  read  it  to  you?"  asked  Miss 
Brent. 

"Yes,  I  did,"  said  Lorraine  honestly.  "It 
is  a  beautiful  novel,  and  it  keeps  reminding  me 
of  some  one  who  is  as  different  from  him  as 
daylight  from  darkness.  The  story  doesn't 
square  with  him  at  all.  It  is  full  of  deep  things; 
sometimes  it  is  almost  inspired,  and  I  have 
listened  to  him  when  he  has  been  talking  with 
Ted,  or  with  the  girls,  and  he  has  never  said 
anything  worth  remembering.  He  is  shallow; 
his  bright  things  are  borrowed  or  superficially 
clever.  He  doesn't  ring  true,"  she  finished 
desperately. 

"It's  too  bad,"  admitted  Miss  Brent;  "to 
tell  the  truth  I  can't  imagine  Hope  resolving 
herself  into  a  mere  hatisfrau;  she  has  always 
complained  that  she  was  the  three-cornered 
block  in  the  round  hole,  but  I'm  afraid  she 
will  find  the  square  hole  doesn't  fit  much 
better." 

"I  suppose  when  a  manuscript  is  accepted 
156 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

there's  no  way  of  getting  it  back,  is  there?" 
asked  Miss  Elise. 

"I'm  afraid  it's  already  in  type,"  answered 
Lorraine.  "Yet  that  is  one  of  the  things  I 
don't  like  about  him.  He  wants  to  keep  it  a 
secret.  His  parents  live  in  Philadelphia,  yet 
he  has  never  suggested  that  his  mother  would 
come  up  to  see  Hope." 

"Perhaps  she  is  old  or  an  invalid,"  said  Miss 
Elise. 

"In  that  case  he  might  ask  Hope  to  waive 
conventionality  and  go  to  see  her,"  answered 
Lorraine. 

"Maybe  he  thinks  his  people  will  oppose  it," 
the  little  sister  ventured. 

Miss  Brent  laughed  this  to  scorn.  "I  agree 
with  Lorraine  on  that  point,"  she  said.  "They 
ought  to  be  proud  to  have  Hope  for  a  daughter- 
in-law,  and  he  ought  to  want  to  spread  the  glad 
tidings  to  the  four  quarters  of  the  earth.  If  I 
was  going  to  marry  a  beautiful  young  man, 
with  real  genius,  and  wit  and  culture  and  all 
that  Hope  has,  I'd  send  a  bellman  out  to  cry 
'boy  lost,'  so  all  the  other  New  York  women 
could  realize  their  loss  and  die  of  envy.  But 
157 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

I  wouldn't  worry  over  it  any  more.  Just  turn 
your  hand  to  hemming  these  napkins,  and  try 
and  find  out  how  she  would  like  to  have  her 
silver  marked.  We  don't  have  to  marry  him. 
Besides,  some  very  uncomfortable  shoes  turn 
out  well  and  wear  a  long  time." 


XX 


"^HE  coming  of  the  postman  is  always  a 
matter  of  vital  interest,  but  with  geniuses 
it  is  of  supreme  importance.  Almost  any  day 
he  may  bring  a  summons  to  the  higher  seats  in 
the  synagogue,  and  the  really  industrious  ap- 
prentice in  literature  counts  upon  at  least  one 
unhappy  return  a  week.  No  one  but  a  writer 
can  fully  appreciate  the  sinking  of  heart  pro- 
duced by  a  long,  thick  envelope,  or  the  ecstatic 
fear  that  accompanies  a  short,  thin  one,  with 
the  publisher's  name  in  the  corner.  Other 
letters  may  have  their  value,  but  it  is  the  thin, 
flat  letter  that  causes  rejoicing  among  the 
writer-folk. 

Yet  it  was  a  plain,  heavy  envelope  that  made 
Lorraine  exclaim  for  joy. 

"It's  from  Mary  Deland,"  she  explained 
delightedly  in  answer  to  the  questioning  looks 
of  the  girls.  "She  is  coming  to  New  York  - 
Then  consulting  the  letter,  "She  is  here  now! 
Where  are  my  things  ?  Lend  me  your  unbrella, 
159 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Hope,  please.  She  is  stopping  at  a  respectable 
hotel,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  distinguished 
from  the  other  lions,  like  Daniel,  by  my  green 
cotton  affair.  Don't  look  for  me  till  you  see 
me!"  and  she  was  gone. 

It  was  a  dreary  day,  the  beginning  of  winter, 
and  the  rain  was  falling  disconsolately  as  if  it 
didn't  find  cloud-life  worth  living.  Lorraine 
took  the  L  and  hurried  away  up  town.  Mary's 
note  had  been  very  brief,  and  there  was  nothing 
to  tell  whether  she  had  come  on  a  flying  visit 
or  for  a  more  protracted  stay. 

She  was  in,  however,  and  Lorraine  was 
shown  to  her  room.  After  the  first  excitement 
of  meeting  was  over  the  two  women  stood  and 
looked  at  each  other  and  exclaimed  simultane- 
ously, "How  thin  you've  grown!"  Then  they 
laughed  and  sat  down  by  the  radiator. 

"You  begin,"  said  Mary.  "What  are  you 
doing  to  make  yourself  thin  ?  I  understand 
you  are  succeeding;  why,  then,  this  interesting 
pallor  ?  Is  it  a  love  affair  that  is  gnawing  like 
a  worm  i'  the  bud  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is,"  admitted  Lorraine;  "but  not 
mine.  I  don't  have  them.  My  political  stuff 
160 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

is  taking  fairly  well,  and  while  men  think,  or 
say  they  think,  women  can't  understand  politics, 
they  all  of  them  prefer  that  topic  to  anything 
more  personal  when  they're  conversing  with 
me.  That  is,  if  they  belong  to  the  class  who 
take  an  interest  in  the  pool.  This  may  be  a 
crushing  admission,  but  it  is  the  truth." 

"But  the  love  affair,"  insisted  Mary.  "Is 
it  one  of  the  Blessed  Boys  you  have  written 
about,  or  has  one  of  the  Twins  suddenly  fallen 
a  victim  after  all  these  years  of  immunity  ?" 

"Worse,"  said  Lorraine.  "It's  my  chum, 
Hope.  It  isn't  the  usual  veally  affair,  either. 
She's  over  twenty,  and  it's  a  bad  case  and  he's 
a  bad  case,  and  I  know  she  is  going  to  be 
unhappy,  and  I  can't  do  anything  about  it." 

Mary  smiled  rather  sadly.  "No,  under  the 
circumstances  all  one  can  do  is  to  hope  that 
she  may  prove  a  false  prophet,"  she  said.  "If 
matrimony  were  an  employment  it  would  prob- 
ably be  classed  among  those  labeled  'extra 
hazardous/  But  don't  worry.  It  will  do  no 
good." 

"And   your  trouble?"   asked   Lorraine;   "I 
hope  it  is  a  proxy  one  too." 
161 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Mary's  white  face  grew  whiter,  and  she  rose 
and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  a  time  or 
so.  "No,"  she  said,  "my  trouble  is  my  own. 
I  never  told  you,  Lorraine,  in  fact  I  never 
told  any  one  in  New  York,  except  Uncle  Peter. 
I  have  lived  and  worked  under  my  old  name, 
my  newspaper  name;  it  is  nobody's  business. 
I  was  married  ten  years  ago;  three  years  after 
that  my  little  girl  was  born,  and  when  she  was 
two  weeks  old  my  husband  left  us.  Everything 
had  been  mortgaged,  even  the  bed  she  was  born 
in,  and  when  he  went  away,  without  one  word 
of  explanation,  I  did  the  one  thing  I  knew  how 
to  do,  —  went  to  work  in  a  newspaper  office.  I 
was  very  weak  still,  and  the  city  editor  was  kind 
to  me;  he  made  me  copy-reader.  When  my  hus- 
band found  I  had  gone  to  work  he  swore  that 
I  had  disgraced  him,  and  he  would  never  speak 
to  me  again  so  long  as  I  earned  my  living." 

"But  how  did  he  expect  you  to  live?"  asked 
Lorraine. 

"I  don't  know;  the  mortgage  was  foreclosed, 

and  the  home  and  everything  in  it  went.     Then 

I   took   my  baby  and   lived   in   lodgings.    My 

landlady  was  very  good  to  me,  and  let  her  little 

162 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

girl  take  care  of  the  baby."  She  stopped  to 
gather  self-control,  and  then  went  on:  "The 
child  did  the  best  she  could,  but  —  my  little 
one  needed  me.  Oh,  when  people  blame  women 
for  leaving  their  children  and  going  out  to 
make  a  living,  do  they  never  think  of  the  heart- 
break of  it!  Do  they  never  realize  that  it  is 
a  choice  between  going  out  and  seeing  them 
starve  ?  That  winter  poor  little  May  had 
diphtheria,  and  when  the  doctors  said  she 
would  die  I  wrote  her  father;  he  sent  me 
twenty-five  dollars  by  his  attorney.  If  I  had 
had  time  I  should  have  begun  to  hate  him 
then,  but  I  was  fightin'g  for  my  baby's  life. 
Inch  by  inch  we  drew  her  back  from  the  very 
brink  of  the  grave;  then  the  doctors  said  she 
must  have  a  change,  so  I  went  to  the  lawyer 
and  asked  him  what  arrangements  my  husband 
was  willing  to  make  for  her.  I  asked  nothing, 
wanted  nothing  for  myself.  For  a  few  months 
he  sent  me  a  little  money  now  and  then,  noth- 
ing I  could  depend  upon.  My  mother  came 
and  took  May  home  with  her,  and  I  went  to 
work  to  get  the  money  to  pay  the  debts  that 
had  accumulated  during  her  long  illness." 
'63 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"And  haven't  you  seen  her  since?"  asked 
Lorraine. 

"My  baby?  Yes,  often  then;  but  when  the 
New  York  chance  came  I  had  to  give  her  up. 
It  meant  so  much,  but  you  can  never  guess 
what  it  was  to  me  to  live  here  those  two  years 
and  only  see  her  for  a  few  weeks.  That  was 
one  reason  why  I  went  to  Chicago  when  I  had 
the  offer;  I  could  see  her  every  week  or  so.  I 
haven't  seen  her  father  since  he  left  us,  and 
I  loved  him,  oh,  I  loved  him  so!" 

She  seemed  to  drift  far  away  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  Lorraine  asked,  "Do  you  love  him 
still,  in  spite  of  it  all  ?" 

Mary  shook  her  head.  "No;  but  it  seems 
as  if  a  part  of  me  had  died,  rather  than  my 
feeling  for  him.  I  never  want  to  see  him  again, 
yet  I  am  here  for  that  purpose." 

"What  was  the  trouble,  dear?  Why  did  he 
go?"  asked  Lorraine,  the  tears  coming  to  her 
eyes. 

"I  think  he  —  well,  he  used  to  take  opium 
sometimes,  and  —  he  was  not  always  account- 
able; then  he  speculated,  and  lost  heavily.  He 
was  a  queer  combination  of  moods  and  emo- 
164 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

tions,  and  he  could  be  charming  when  he  wished. 
I  think  he  really  felt  that  I  had  disgraced  him 
when  I  went  back  to  the  desk.  Don't  you 
know  there  are  people  who  think  it  more  hon- 
orable to  owe  bills  than  to  pay  them  by  the 
sweat  of  one's  brow  ?  He  was  like  that.  Since 
then  he  has  made  some  rather  good  invest- 
ments, and  has  quite  a  little  sum  of  money." 

"Is  he  here?"  asked  Lorraine  timidly. 

"Yes;  he  has  been  here  some  time.  That 
was  another  reason  why  I  left  a  year  and  more 
ago;  I  learned  quite  accidentally  that  he  had 
come  here.  Now  he  has  brought  suit  for  di- 
vorce. That's  what  brings  me  here." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  going  to 
fight  it?"  asked  Lorraine  in  amazement. 

"I  must,  dear,"  answered  Mary.  "I  am 
willing  enough  to  let  him  go,  but  if  the  case 
goes  by  default  I  could  never  compel  him  to 
pay  a  penny  of  alimony.  Don't  look  so  hor- 
rified, Lorraine.  Do  you  think  I  am  doing 
this  for  myself,  or  that  I  could  ever  spend  a 
cent  of  his  for  my  own  needs  ?  Food  bought 
with  his  money  would  choke  me;  clothes  would 
sting  like  nettles  — " 

165 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

She  sprung  to  her  feet  and  clenched  her  hands. 
"I  won't  cry,"  she  half  sobbed,  "I  will  not  cry." 

"Do,  dear,"  mourned  Lorraine;  "it  will  do 
you  good." 

"No,"  she  said,  "not  yet.  Several  years  ago 
I  had  a  fearful  illness;  I  had  cried  myself  half 
blind  and  the  brain  fever  left  some  kind  of  a 
weakness.  Anyhow  the  doctors  told  me  that 
tears  might  cost  me  my  life  at  almost  a  min- 
ute's notice.  And  some  day  I  shall  break  down. 
I  must  make  some  provision  for  little  May 
against  that  time  when  she  will  not  have  me 
any  longer.  And,  who  knows  ?  Perhaps  she 
may  redeem  her  father  and  lead  him  back  to 
his  better  self.  He  used  to  be  so  gentle,  so 
lovable.  When  I  am  dead  I  have  no  right  to 
deprive  him  of  that  one  chance.  He  can't  help 
being  a  better  man  for  being  compelled  to  re- 
member now  and  then  that  he  is  a  father." 

She  stopped,  exhausted,  and  threw  herself 
upon  the  bed.  "Don't  be  afraid,"  she  said, 

"don't  be  afraid,  Lorraine.     I  shall  not  cry 
until  May's  future  is  secure." 

But  Lorraine,  with  her  arms  around  her,  was 
crying  for  two. 

166 


XXI 

"*HE  Saturday  before  Christmas  was  to  be  a 
day  of  jubilation  and  celebration.  The 
geniuses  had  arranged  quite  a  program,  and 
Uncle  Peter  Bright  and  a  few  others  of  the  elect 
had  been  invited  to  be  present.  Louis  and 
Hope  were  to  give  the  curtain  raiser  they  had 
been  working  upon  so  long,  Paul  was  to  furnish 
the  music,  and,  to  Lorraine's  great  joy,  she  had 
been  able  to  prevail  upon  Mary  Deland  to  give 
a  reading  from  the  advance  sheets  of  her  new 
book,  which  was  to  be  on  the  market  early  in 
the  year. 

There  had  been  a  flurry  of  snow  early  in 
the  afternoon,  just  enough  to  give  the  proper 
Christmas  atmosphere,  and  then  the  weather 
had  cleared,  and  the  night  was  sparkling  and 
cold.  Everybody  was  in  the  highest  possible 
spirits.  Lorraine  was  happy  because  Mary  was 
coming;  Bess,  because  —  well,  just  because, 
sometimes  there  is  no  better  reason;  Hope,  be- 
cause Mr.  Harrison,  who  had  seemed  rather 
167 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

shy,  had  promised  to  drop  in  late  in  the  even- 
ing; and  the  Heavenly  Twins,  because  all  their 
ducklings  seemed  likely  to  eventually  turn  out 
swans. 

The  big  double  parlors  were  festooned  with 
Christmas  greens,  and  the  log  fire  crackled  and 
sparkled.  Every  one  came  early,  and  Ted  was 
patted  on  the  back  and  congratulated  till  a  less 
modest  youth  would  have  been  spoiled;  all  the 
garret  geniuses  rejoiced  in  his  success  as  whole- 
heartedly as  if  it  had  been  their  own.  There 
was  not  in  all  New  York  a  happier  party. 

The  play  went  off  admirably,  and  the  play- 
wright and  his  leading  lady  won  applause  that 
might  well  have  appealed  to  and  warmed  the 
cockles  of  the  heart  of  any  professional.  Then 
there  was  a  little  music,  a  duet  sung  by 
Bess  and  Teddy,  an  encore,  and  then  Mary 
was  introduced  by  Miss  Brent  and  began  her 
story.  She  had  taken  a  few  scenes  and  ar- 
ranged them  so  as  to  give  a  plan  of  the  novel, 
and  ended  with  a  climax  so  strong  and  dra- 
matic that  it  left  her  hearers  breathless,  all  of 
them  figuratively  so,  two  of  them  literally.  As 
she  proceeded  with  the  reading  in  her  exquisitely 
168 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

trained  voice,  Hope  and  Lorraine  exchanged 
puzzled  glances.  Before  she  had  finished  crim- 
son spots  were  burning  on  Hope's  cheeks,  and 
her  eyes  were  flashing  with  an  angry  light. 
Lorraine  was  as  white  as  a  ghost.  First  she 
had  been  startled,  then  frightened,  then  the 
light  of  a  sudden,  awful  conviction  broke  upon 
her  confused  mind. 

The  close  of  the  story,  strongly  dramatic  as 
it  was,  held  the  audience.  No  one  had  heard 
the  bell  or  noticed  the  advent  of  Mr.  Harrison, 
who  stood  by  the  curtains  in  the  back  parlor, 
as  if  uncertain  whether  to  go  or  remain.  No 
one  except  Hope,  who  had  risen  like  an  aveng- 
ing Nemesis  and  was  demanding  in  ringing 
tones : 

"You  say  this  is  from  your  story,  Mrs. 
Deland,  a  book  already  published  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mary  gently  and  a  little  sur- 
prised at  the  evident  hostility  of  the  speaker. 
"I  have  just  finished  all  the  revises;  the  book 
will  be  on  the  market  by  February." 

"And  you  wrote  it  —  when  ?"  Hope's  voice 
was  vibrant  with  wrath  and  indignation. 

"In  the  forests  of  Michigan  years  ago,"  Mary 
169 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

answered,  troubled  at  the  meditated  offense  of 
the  question;  and  turning  to  Lorraine  for  ex- 
planation, her  glance  fell  upon  the  colorless  face 
and  rigid  form  of  Maurice  Harrison,  standing 
as  if  turned  to  stone,  and  gazing  at  her  with  a 
malignant  glare  of  hatred. 

No  one  in  the  room  ever  forgot  that  moment. 
Even  Hope  followed  the  eyes  of  the  woman  she 
had  risen  to  denounce,  until  she  also  had  turned 
and  was  facing  her  lover.  Her  lover  ?  This 
shrinking,  cowering  creature  ?  Her  lover,  whose 
eyes  did  not  dare  meet  hers  ? 

"Speak!"  she  cried.  "Who  is  this  woman, 
what  is  she  doing  with  your  story  ?" 

The  wretched  man  wet  his  parched  lips  and 
tried  to  answer;  then  with  something  between  a 
snarl  and  a  curse  he  would  have  flung  himself 
out  of  the  room,  but  for  Ted's  long  fingers  on 
his  collar,  and  the  iron  sinewed  right  arm  that 
Prince  Karl  put  out  to  bar  his  passage. 

"Not  yet,  my  friend,"  Ted  said  sternly. 
"When  your  affianced  wife  asks  you  a  question 
you  will  do  well  to  answer  it,  yes,  and  answer 
damn  quick  too,"  with  sudden  anger.  "  An- 
swer! Do  you  hear  ?" 

170 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"  His  affianced  wife,"  said  Mary  slowly,  — 
"his  affianced  —  " 

"Yes,"  said  Hope  hotly,  "and  who  and  what 
are  you  ?" 

The  older  woman  looked  at  her  with  infinite 
compassion.  "God  help  us  both,"  she  said. 
*I  am  his  wife." 

"You  won't  be  in  ten  days,"  he  said  impu- 
dently; but  Hope  shrank  away. 

"It  is  true  then?"  she  said.  "You  have 
asked  me  to  marry  you  when  —  when  you  were 
already  married  ?  And  I  believed  in  you,  oh,  I 
believed  in  and  trusted  you  so!"  She  turned 
from  one  to  the  other  piteously,  "And  the  story, 
did  you  lie  about  that  too  ?" 

All  the  flush  had  gone  from  her  face,  the  light 
from  her  eyes.  She  put  out  her  hands  as  if 
groping  in  the  dark  for  something  gone  forever. 
"Lorry,"  she  said  faintly,  "Lorry!" 

But  it  was  Louis  who  caught  her  in  his  strong, 
young  arms,  Louis  whose  face  was  as  pale  as 
her  own. 


171 


XXII 

*  I  VHE  holidays  were  long  gone  by  before 
Hope  emerged  from  the  darkened  room 
where  she  had  been  carried  that  eventful  night. 
Fragile  and  worn  with  the  anxiety,  hard  work, 
and  disappointments  of  the  last  few  years,  the 
girl  was  in  no  condition  to  stand  such  a  shaft 
from  the  blue  sky  of  love  and  hope.  Nature 
always  takes  her  reprisals,  sooner  or  later,  and 
she  is  a  merciless  creditor,  compounding  her 
interest. 

Worn  and  hollow-eyed,  the  girl  crept  down- 
stairs one  day,  for  the  Twins  had  taken  her 
into  their  ampler  fold  during  the  days  when 
it  seemed  as  if  her  life  might  flicker  out.  She 
had  never  mentioned  Harrison's  name,  and  he 
had  never  dared  Lorraine's  wrath,  but  once 
he  had  stopped  Bess  and  asked  after  the  woman 
he  had  wronged.  Through  Ted  they  knew  he 
had  left  town  immediately  after  the  divorce  pro- 
ceedings. None  of  them  ever  saw  him  again. 

Hope  stopped  with  her  hand  on  the  knob. 
172 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Miss  Brent  and  Lorraine  were  talking,  and  she 
heard  her  name. 

"I  can't  go  and  leave  Hope,"  Lorraine  was 
saying.  "I  just  can't.  I  couldn't  do  my  work  if 
I  tried.  I'd  be  worrying  about  her  all  the  time." 

"There's  not  a  bit  of  use  in  your  staying," 
Miss  Brent  answered  just  as  decidedly.  "Do  be 
sensible;  you  can't  do  a  thing  for  her.  Poor 
child,  no  one  can.  You've  never  been  in  love, 
you're  too  sensible  for  that,  and  then  you  hated 
him  from  the  very  first;  and  for  all  you'll  never 
say,  '  I  told  you  so,'  every  time  she  sees  you  she's 
going  to  be  reminded  that  you  did  tell  her  so. 
You  just  go  to  Albany  with  your  horrid  old 
legislators,  and  leave  her  to  me;  it  will  be  better 
all  around." 

Lorraine  seemed  doubtful.  "Do  you  really 
think  so?"  she  said.  "Is  this  going  to  come 
between  us,  after  all  these  years  when  we've 
gone  through  so  much  together?" 

"I  know,"  answered  the  old  lady.  "It  does 
seem  too  bad  that  a  mere  man  should  be  able  to 
come  between  friends,  but  they  do  sometimes. 
Go  away,  my  dear,  and  let  her  have  a  little  time 
to  get  over  it." 

173 


UNDER   THE  HARROW 

Hope  crept  back  to  her  bedroom  upstairs, 
wondering  how  the  getting  over  it  process  is 
accomplished.  When  Miss  Brent  came  in,  she 
was  lying  on  the  couch,  so  white  and  still  that, 
but  for  her  wide,  tearless  eyes,  she  might  have 
been  still  forever. 

"How  am  I  going  to  get  over  it  ?"  she  asked; 
and  the  older  woman  sat  down  by  her  and  patted 
her  hand  as  if  she  were  a  little  child. 

"I  don't  think  you  will  'get  over  it/  dearie," 
she  said,  "  but  you'll  live  through  it.  Yes,  you 
will  live  through  it."  There  was  a  touch  of 
bitterness  in  her  voice.  "There  are  troubles 
one  does  not  live  through,"  she  added. 

The  girl  dropped  back  on  her  pillows.  ' ' '  Men 
have  died  and  worms  have  eaten  them.'  Oh, 
don't  you  see  that  that  is  just  the  worst  of  it  ?  1 
shall  live  through  it,  and  through  all  the  long, 
long  years  heavy  and  savorless  as  unleavened 
bread.  The  tortures  of  the  inquisition  were 
kinder  than  this.  One  knew  that  death  must 
come  reasonably  soon,  but  there  is  no  such 
fortune  in  store  for  me;  I  have  to  go  on  and 
on  and  on  —  till  I  live  through  it." 

The  elder  woman  looked  out  at  the  gray  sky 
174 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

and  flying  flakes  of  snow.  "And  I  love  life," 
she  said,  half  to  herself.  "  Once  it  took  so  much 
to  make  me  happy,  and  now,  as  I  draw  nearer 
and  nearer  to  its  close,  I  think  I  could  be  quite 
content  to  sit  by  the  window  and  watch  the 
snow,  the  rain,  the  sunshine,  the  children  in  the 
streets." 

"Science  is  stupid,  blind,  futile,"  Hope  said 
wearily.  "Why  can't  I  give  you  my  life  ?  Why 
must  I  live  on  when  all  desire  of  life  is  past  ? 
I'm  so  young,  so  terribly  young;  1  may  have  to 
live  for  forty  or  even  fifty  years.  Miss  Brent, 
do  you  think  one  must  live,  whether  she  wants 
to  or  not,  whether  life  is  worth  living  or  not, 
whether  it  is  one  long-continued  misery  or  not  ?" 

Miss  Brent's  face  looked  gray  and  drawn  in 
the  fading  light,  and  she  hesitated.  "I  think 
so,  my  dear,"  she  said  at  length.  "  I  don't  see 
any  way;  no,  I  don't  see  any  other  way  out 
of  it." 

After  she  had  gone  Hope  found  herself  re- 
membering her  last  words.  "She  said  it  as  if 
she  wanted  to  see  some  other  way,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "  And  she  spoke  as  if  she  were  thinking 
of  some  one  else.  I  wonder  who  she  meant  ?" 

175 


XXIII 

TV/riSS   BRENT  sat  alone  in  her  study.    Elise 
had  gone  to  visit  one  of  their  multitudinous 
cousins,  at  her  sister's  earnest  request.     Her  ab- 
sence was  a  relief  and  a  sorrow  at  the  same  time. 

"What  am  I  going  to  do?"  said  Miss  Brent 
to  herself,  after  looking  into  the  fire  for  an  hour. 
"What  am  I  going  to  do?"  Rab  came  and 
laid  a  troubled  nose  upon  her  knee,  and  Miss 
Brent  patted  him  on  the  head.  "You're  a 
great  comfort,  Rabsey,  old  man,"  she  said, 
"but  even  you  can't  help  me  now.  It's  the 
Valley  of  the  Shadow,  and  my  faithful  dog 
can't  bear  me  company.  You  must  stay  and 
take  care  of  Elise,  poor  little  Elise.  She'll  need 
you  worse  than  I;  but  how  am  I  ever  going  to 
tell  her  ?  Rabsey,  my  dear,  I  think  the  chil- 
dren must  help  me  out.  Will  you  take  a  note 
to  the  top  floor?" 

The  dog  danced  appreciatively  until  she  had 
finished  writing,   and,   taking  the  note  in   his 
intelligent  little  mouth,  fairly  flew  upstairs. 
176 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"And  I  want  a  girl,"  continued  the  old  lady. 
"  I  don't  like  to  lay  my  woes  on  Lorraine,  but 
Hope  has  more  than  enough  of  her  own,  and 
Bess  wouldn't  understand.  It's  hard  lines,  but 
friends  are  made  for  adversity." 

Ted  followed  Rab's  scampering  feet  down- 
stairs, and  the  dog  was  despatched  with  a  sec- 
ond note,  and  Lorraine  appeared  a  few  seconds 
later.  Neither  of  them  was  surprised.  The 
dog-express  was  an  old  and  honored  institution, 
but  when  they  entered  the  room  something  told 
them  that  it  was  a  different  errand  that  had 
brought  them  there  than  any  of  the  exigencies  of 
a  literary  existence,  or  the  whims  of  a  patron  saint 
of  aspiring  youth.  Ted  asked  almost  in  the  first 
breath,  "What  is  the  matter?"  and  Lorraine 
made  the  same  query  the  moment  she  entered. 

Miss  Brent  had  herself  well  in  hand.  "I 
want  you  to  draw  my  will,  Theodore,"  she 
said,  "and  Lorraine  can  act  as  a  witness." 

He  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  "Oh,  is  that  all  ? 
Well,  that's  a  simple  matter.  Do  you  want  me 
to  actually  do  it  now,  or  do  you  want  to  talk 
about  it,  and  let  me  get  it  up  in  proper  shape 
on  the  typewriter,  with  duplicate  copies  ?" 
177 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

She  motioned  him  to  a  chair  at  the  big  table, 
with  its  litter  of  pens,  papers,  magazines,  and 
books.  "Now,  please,"  she  said.  "I  want  to 
have  it  off  my  mind;  you'll  find  legal  cap  in  the 
right-hand  drawer  and  blotters  and  everything 
you  need."  He  sat  down  obediently  and  un- 
capped his  fountain  pen.  Lorraine  walked  to 
the  window,  with  a  sense  of  bewildered  anxiety, 
and  then  back  to  the  fire,  where  she  sat  down 
at  Miss  Brent's  feet. 

Ted  wrote  the  date,  and  then  asked,  "Do 
you  want  to  begin  in  the  usual  way:  I,  Emily 
Brent,  being  sound  in  mind  and  body  — " 

"Not  exactly,"  she  said;  "write,  I,  Emily 
Brent,  being  sound  in  mind  — "  She  stopped, 
and  he  wrote  it  down  and  waited.  The  pause 
grew  ominous.  Lorraine  flung  her  arms  about 
Miss  Brent  and  looked  up  with  something  like 
terror  in  her  eyes.  "Sound  in  mind,"  repeated 
the  old  lady  firmly,  "but  assured  that  I  have 
but  a  short  time  to  live  — " 

Ted  dropped  the  pen,  and  Lorraine's  arms 
tightened  around  her. 

"Yes,  my  dears,  I  mean  it,"  said  Miss  Brent. 
"I've  known  it  for  some  time,  but  I  couldn't 
178 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

make  up  my  mind  to  admit  it.  The  world  is 
so  beautiful  I  can't  bear  to  leave  it.  I'm  — 
I'm  afraid  I'm  a  worldly  old  woman.  I've 
always  enjoyed  being  alive,  and  I've  never  fixed 
my  thoughts  on  the  future  life.  I've  been  so 
busy,  there's  been  so  much  to  do,  and  so  many 
to  do  for,  that  I  have  had  no  time  to  think 
about  dying;  and  now  it  has  come  quite  sud- 
denly, and  I  can't  seem  to  get  used  to  the  idea. 
'Truly  the  light  is  sweet,  and  a  pleasant  thing 
it  is  for  the  eyes  to  behold  the  sun.  But  if  a 
man  live  many  years  and  rejoice  in  them  all, 
it  is  hard  to  remember  that  the  dust  must 
return  to  the  earth  as  it  was,  and  the  spirit— 
I  can't  quite  seem  to  realize  it,  now  that  it  is 
almost  here  - 

Lorraine  had  hidden  her  face  in  Miss  Brent's 
lap   and  was  crying.     "But  what  makes  you 
think    it    is    here?"    cried    Ted    impetuously. 
"What  is  the  matter  ?     You  are  thinner,  but  - 
who  says  it  is  hopeless  ?" 

"It  is  carcinoma,  my  dears,"  she  said.    "That 

doesn't  sound  quite  so  hateful  as  cancer.     It's 

the  slow  kind.     I  went  to  an  awful  place  where 

they  profess  to  burn  them  out.     I  was  there  a 

179 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

year,  and  it  was  a  year  of  hell;  they  claimed 
that  I  was  cured,  and  I  came  home.  A  few 
months  ago  it  recurred.  I  have  seen  some  of 
the  best  surgeons  there  are.  They  give  me  six 
months  at  the  outside,  possibly  not  so  much; 
I  pray  it  may  not  be  so  long,  and  there  will  be 
unspeakable  pain,  though  Dr.  Powers  has  prom- 
ised that  it  shall  not  be  more  than  I  can  bear. 
Oh,  he  has  been  an  angel  to  me!  I  —  I  think  I 
couldn't  stand  it,  but  for  his  promise  that  I 
shall  not  suffer  any  more  as  I  have." 

Ted  and  Lorraine  looked  at  each  other  de- 
spairingly. 

"Does  your  sister  know?"  he  asked. 

"No;  she  knew  before,  but  she  doesn't  know 
it  has  come  back.  What's  the  use  of  troubling 
her  until  I  have  to  ?" 

"But  she  ought  not  to  be  away  even  for 
twenty-four  hours,"  objected  Lorraine.  "She 
will  begrudge  every  minute  away  from  you. 
She  just  lives  in  you,  Miss  Emma.  Oh,  are  you 
sure  ?  It  doesn't  seem  possible;  are  you  sure  ?" 

"Haven't  you  noticed  how  I  clung  to  the 
summer?"  she  asked.  "I  went  to  the  park 
every  day,  because  I  hardly  expect  to  see  it 
1 80 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

green  again,  at  least  I  hope  not.  Even  if  I 
last  that  long  I  shall  be  in  too  much  agony  to 
see  anything.  Isn't  it  wicked,"  she  said  sharply, 
"isn't  it  cruel  and  wicked  to  think  that  just 
because  I  am  a  human  being  I  must  be  treated 
with  less  kindness  than  a  dumb  brute  ?  If  it 
were  Rabsey  we  would  put  him  out  of  his 
misery.  It  isn't  just,  Lorraine,  you  know  it 
isn't  just,  let  alone  doing  as  we'd  be  done  by." 

"It's  against  the  law  to  anticipate  death  in 
this  state,"  said  Ted,  "no  matter  what  a  curse 
life  may  be." 

"Yes;  a  foolish  law,  enacted  by  a  foolish 
legislature,"  said  Miss  Brent  curtly.  "Pagan 
peoples  are  kinder  and  more  humane.  I  can't 
understand  why  a  Christian  nation,  that  lives 
in  the  belief  of  immortality  and  the  hope  of 
glory,  should  expend  every  possible  effort  to 
prolong  life  when  it  is  an  intolerable  misery. 
When  life  is  a  burden  too  great  to  be  borne, 
when  one  has  done  all  that  can  be  done,  why 
not  end  the  agony  ?  Why  not  be  gathered  to 
one's  fathers  in  peace,  instead  of  dragging  on 
from  day  to  day,  to  go  shrieking  out,  half  in- 
sane with  the  torture  of  a  hideous  disease? 
1*1 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

The  day  is  going  to  come  when  our  present 
system  will  be  looked  back  to  as  a  species  of 
civilized  barbarism." 

Again  the  quick  flash  of  understanding  passed 
between  the  young  people. 

"Oh,  don't  say  that  to  Hope!"  sobbed  Lor- 
raine. "There  is  a  grief  that  eats  one's  heart 
out  as  —  as  the  cancer  does  physically.  The 
mind  can  suffer  pain  as  excruciating  as  the 
body.  I  suppose  if  we  have  the  right  to  escape 
from  one  we  have  the  right  to  escape  from  the 
other,  and  I  have  been  so  afraid  —  Don't  you 
remember,  she  said  it  would  be  the  mental 
pain  from  which  she  should  shrink,  that  night, 
when  — " 

"She  is  young,"  said  Miss  Brent;  "she  doesn't 
believe  it  now,  but  the  sun  will  shine  again. 
It  is  different  with  her;  breaking  the  slate  does 
not  solve  the  problem,  but  —  for  me  the  sun 
has  set.  Why  must  I  grope  on  in  darkness  ?" 

"Because  we  can't  spare  you  yet,"  answered 
Lorraine;  "and  perhaps  the  doctor  can  really 
save  you  from  much  of  the  suffering.  He  will 
try." 

"Remember,  not  one  word  to  the  other  chil- 
182 


dren;  not  half  a  word  to   Elise,"   said   Miss 
Brent. 

Ted  took  up  his  pen  and  flung  it  down  again. 
"I  can't  do  it  to-day,  Miss  Emma;  I  just 
can't;"  and  he  buried  his  face  on  his  arms  on 
the  table.  Rab  whimpered  plaintively,  and 
Lorraine  caught  him  in  her  arms.  Down  the 
street  a  hand  organ  jangled  painfully  the  notes 
of  the  once  popular  song,  "Silver  Threads 
Among  the  Gold,"  and  Lorraine  seemed  to 
follow  them  and  recall  the  forgotten  words  up 
to  the  line,  "Life  is  passing  fast  away." 

She  raised  her  face,  blotted  and  tear-stained. 
"Miss  Brent,"  she  said  softly,  "nobody  in  the 
world  has  ever  done  for  me  what  you  have; 
but  for  your  help  and  encouragement  and  belief 
we  might  all  of  us  have  given  up.  Now  I  will 
try  to  be  strong  for  your  sake  and  help  you  bear 
it;  but,  oh,  if  sometimes  I  can't  be  amusing  or 
good  company  any  more,  remember  that  it  is 
because  I  cannot  reconcile  myself  to  letting 
you  go,  I  can't  seem  to  think  of  any  life  worth 
living  without  you." 

Miss  Brent  stroked  her  hair.     "It  isn't  as  if 
it  were  for  always,"  she  said. 
183 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"No,"  said  Lorraine  quickly;  "and  even  in 
the  Delectable  Mountains  you  will  not  forget 
us,  toiling  up  the  sheer  steeps  of  the  Hill 
Difficulty.  You  will  not  forget  us,  Miss 
Emma." 


184 


XXIV 

IV/riSS  BRENT  would  not  hear  of  Lorraine's 
giving  up  her  legislative  work,  and  the 
night  before  she  left  for  Albany  she  had  a  long 
talk  with  Hope.  They  were  alone,  and  had 
been  silent  for  some  time  before  Lorraine  found 
courage  to  say,  "Hope,  I  want  to  give  you 
just  a  little,  little  piece  of  advice.  I'm  not 
heartless,  and  I'm  not  cold,  and  I  don't  mean  to 
be  unkind,  but  I  want  to  say  something  that 
may  seem  all  three." 

Hope  braced  herself  mentally,  as  we  all  do 
when  our  friends  serve  notice  that  they  are 
about  to  say  something  for  our  own  good. 

"Do  you  remember  the  parable  of  the  woman 
who  had  ten  pieces  of  silver,  and  how,  having 
lost  one  of  them,  she  lit  her  candle  and  swept 
the  whole  house  until  she  found  it  ?  Now  sup- 
pose, after  all  her  pains  and  trouble,  when  she 
found  what  she  had  thought  her  tenth  piece 
of  silver,  it  had  turned  out  to  be  a  cleverly 
executed  counterfeit,  worthless  lead  or  pewter. 
185 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

Do  you  think  she  would  have  wasted  many 
tears  over  it  ?  Would  she  not  have  been  glad 
that  she  learned  the  truth  herself,  instead  of 
having  her  spurious  coin  rejected  in  the  market- 
place ?  Wouldn't  she  have  looked  on  her  nine 
remaining  pieces  of  silver,  tested  their  weight, 
and  tried  them  one  by  one  to  see  that  each 
had  the  true  ring,  and  would  she  not  have 
rejoiced  over  the  good  coin  that  was  left,  in- 
stead of  grieving  over  what  was  worthless  ?" 

Hope's  sensitive  mouth  quivered  for  an  in- 
stant. "Perhaps  she  had  planned  to  buy  cer- 
tain things  with  the  tenth  coin,  things  none  of 
the  other  coins  would  purchase,"  she  said. 

"That's  what  I  mean  exactly,"  answered 
Lorraine.  "Don't  you  see  she  never  could  have 
bought  anything  with  it,  because  it  was  coun- 
terfeit ?  It  was  better  for  her  to  know  it  before 
she  went  out  to  buy." 

"Nevertheless,  she  must  go  without  what  it 
would  have  bought,"  said  Hope  wearily. 

"No,  because  it  wouldn't  have  bought  any- 
thing," insisted  Lorraine.  "She  thought  it 
would,  but  it  wouldn't.  It  would  have  brought 
her  nothing  but  humiliation  and  misery.  It 
1 86 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

was  counterfeit.  The  real  coin,  even  of  the 
same  date,  is  in  existence,  and  will  buy  her  all 
she  desires,  all  she  dreamed  of.  If  she  had 
lost  the  real  coin,  her  loss  would  have  been 
irretrievable  — "  Lorraine  paused  a  moment; 
possibly  she  was  remembering,  then  went  on, 
"But  the  loss  of  a  counterfeit,  something  that 
is  nothing,  not  even  the  phantom  of  false  morn- 
ing, that  is  not  a  loss;  it  is  a  good  riddance." 

Hope  leaned  back  in  her  rocking-chair  and 
closed  her  eyes.  "She  had  only  so  many 
candles,"  she  said,  "and  she  burned  one  to  the 
candlestick  looking  for  the  silver  piece  — " 

"And  got  dust  in  her  hair  sweeping  under  a 
lot  of  furniture  that  hadn't  been  moved  since 
the  spring  cleaning,"  supplemented  Lorraine; 
"but  her  hair  needed  washing  anyhow,  the 
house  was  spotlessly  clean,  she  had  nine  good 
pieces  of  silver  left,  and  as  she  swept  at  night 
she  had  all  the  day  left  for  other  things.  Hope, 
you  have  ten  talents.  One  of  them  is  the  talent 
for  happiness.  You  were  going  to  put  the 
others  away  while  you  gloated  over  this  one. 
Now  you  think  you  have  lost  it,  but  you  haven't. 
You  have  lost  something  that  gave  a  promise 
187 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

of  it.  Suppose  some  one  wishes  to  wrong  me 
and  make  me  unhappy,  and  I  put  it  all  out  of 
my  mind.  He  is  disarmed.  If  I  brood  over  it 
and  make  myself  moody,  bitter,  and  suspicious, 
he  has  accomplished  his  purpose.  The  poisoned 
arrow  has  gone  home  instead  of  glancing  off." 

"He  jests  at  scars  that  never  felt  a  wound,"2 
said  Hope  a  trifle  bitterly. 

"Because  one  refuses  to  wear  his  heart  upon 
his  sleeve  is  no  sign  he  has  none,"  answered 
Lorraine.  "It  is  because  I  was  a  fool,  such  a 
motley  fool  once  on  a  time,  that  I  am  trying 
to  make  you  spare  yourself.  Let  me  tell  you 
it  is  no  small  thing  to  sacrifice  a  good  com- 
plexion to  an  idol  with  clay  feet,  and  get  round- 
shouldered  burning  joss-sticks  before  an  altar 
that  hasn't  a  thing  in  the  world  on  it  save  your 
own  imagination.  Sometimes  I  think  the  French 
saying  that  when  a  woman  loves  first  it  is  the  lover 
that  is  all  important,  and  after  that  she  only 
loves  love,  is  quite  as  true  when  it  is  reversed. 
A  woman,  especially  a  serious,  intense  woman, 
is  awfully  apt  to  love  the  great  god  of  Love 
himself,  and  hang  all  his  attributes  upon  a 
most  unworthy  representative  the  first  time  her 
188 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

heart  is  ever  engaged.  Indeed,  it  is  hardly 
true  to  speak  of  her  heart;  it  may  be  nothing 
more  than  her  imagination  that  is  involved. 
Don't  you  see,  dear?" 

Hope  rose,  trembling  a  little,  and  the  women 
caught  each  other's  hands  and  stood  looking 
into  each  other's  eyes. 

"You're  a  real  gold  piece,"  said  Hope  feel- 
ingly. "  I'll  go  back  to  work  to-morrow." 

"You're  another,"  responded  Lorraine;  "we'll 
both  go  to  work,  and,  Hope,  remember  I 
leave  Miss  Brent  in  your  care.  I  want  you 
to  cultivate  her  and  amuse  her,  if  you  can; 
the  boys  are  so  busy,  and  Ted  and  Bess  so 
absorbed  in  each  other,  I'm  afraid  she  will 
miss  me.  You  will  find  her  a  tower  of  strength." 

"Is  she  in  trouble,  Lorraine?"  asked  Hope. 
"I  fancied  the  other  day,  from  something  she 
said,  that  she  was  ill  and  worried." 

Lorraine  hesitated.  "She'll  tell  you  herself, 
dear;  just  be  very  good  to  her,  and  never  let 
Miss  Elise  notice  anything.  Now  go  to  bed, 
like  a  good  child;  we  must  be  up  early." 


189 


XXV 

*  I  SHE  gentle  art  of  minding  one's  own  busi- 
ness, without  losing  the  ability  to  know 
when  to  rejoice  with  those  that  do  rejoice  and 
mourn  with  those  who  are  afflicted,  is  a  rare 
gift,  but  the  little  company  gathered  together 
under  the  roof  of  the  Heavenly  Twins  possessed 
it.  When  Hope  crept  back  into  what  was  left 
of  the  charmed  circle  there  was  kindness  and 
consideration  and  a  complete  ignoring  of  the 
unpleasant  episode  that  had  wrecked  her  air- 
castle  and  the  temporary  peace  of  the  household. 
If  one  has  set  his  heart  upon  a  pasteboard 
crown,  glittering  with  tin-foil  and  brilliants,  it 
doesn't  make  it  any  easier  for  his  disillusion- 
ment to  take  place  on  coronation  day,  before 
the  assembled  multitude.  To  wear  a  gilded 
sorrow  gracefully,  before  the  curious  eyes  of  the 
world,  makes  letting  concealment  prey  like  a 
worm  in  the  bud  seem  an  easy  and  even  agree- 
able process. 

Pride  will  do  much,  but  work  will  do  more, 
190 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

and  Hope  returned  to  her  labors  with  a  kind 
of  inarticulate  fury.  She  was  absorbed,  not  in 
her  grief,  but  in  a  headlong  flight  from  it. 
Lorraine  scolded  on  her  weekly  visits;  Louis 
entreated.  She  did  not  seem  to  understand 
them,  and  the  two  who  helped  her  most  were 
Miss  Brent,  fighting  her  own  grim,  always  losing 
battle,  and  Bess,  still  so  young  that  she  be- 
lieved "the  setting  of  a  great  hope  is  like  the 
setting  of  the  sun,"  and  forgot  that  the  sun  has 
never  failed  to  rise.  She  assumed  charge  of  their 
tiny  me'nage,  and  saw  that  Hope  had  a  good 
breakfast,  and  dragged  her  out  to  luncheon, 
and  told  her  the  perplexities  that  beset  her, 
and  showed  her  all  her  sketches,  and  saw  that 
she  wore  her  rubbers  and  took  her  umbrella. 
The  girl  who  had  been  called  "the  Infant" 
became  the  mainstay  and  did  the  mothering 
herself.  Hope  brought  much  of  her  work 
home,  and  read  to  Miss  Brent,  whose  keen 
criticisms  were  always  amusing  and  often  help- 
ful. Finding  sleep  unwilling  to  knit  up  the 
raveled  sleave  of  care,  she  pulled  out  her 
mother's  plays  and  read  them  and  acted  scenes 
for  the  Twins  and  Louis.  She  left  not  one 
191 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

single  moment  open  for  repining,  and  Bess 
began  to  feel  that  her  efforts  were  rewarded. 

Ted  watched  Bess  approvingly,  yet  felt  it  a 
duty  not  to  let  her  sacrifice  herself  too  far,  and 
with  that  end  in  view  he  took  her  many  even- 
ings for  long,  apparently  cheerless  walks  up 
and  down  the  romantic  streets  of  that  suburb 
of  Arcadia,  New  York  City. 

While  one  swallow  does  not  make  a  summer, 
one  straw  will  show  the  direction  of  the  wind, 
and  Ted's  success  in  the  Riordan  case  had 
brought  the  young  man  some  business  and 
recognition  from  quarters  where  recognition 
may  be  figured  on  as  cash  capital.  More  than 
once  he  had  almost  needed  a  "This  is  My 
Busy  Day"  sign,  and  his  typewriter  lived  in 
the  hope  of  an  indefinite  supply  of  new  ribbons. 

One  day  he  received  a  call  from  the  Honorable 
Michael  Cahill.  Ted  had  the  advantage  of  his 
caller  in  several  things  beside  birth  and  educa- 
tion. The  Honorable  Michael  was  one  of  the 
gentlemen  "written  up"  by  Lorraine  among  the 
heroes  who  carry  their  wards.  As  it  was  an 
article  of  faith  with  the  geniuses  to  read  each 
other's  published  works,  Ted  knew  that  his 
192 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

caller  was  a  Tipperary  man,  that  he  had  taken 
out  his  first  papers  the  day  he  landed,  and 
offered  his  services  to  the  Volunteer  Fire  De- 
partment the  next  week,  and  that  he  had  re- 
ceived a  medal  from  the  city  for  services  rendered 
in  connection  therewith.  He  knew  that  Michael 
was  one  of  the  few  surviving  privates  of  the  Civil 
War,  and  that  the  one  decoration  he  prized  more 
highly  than  his  fireman's  medal  was  the  small 
brown  Grand  Army  button.  Michael  had  the 
reputation  of  being  square.  He  was  not  above 
buying  votes  that  he  believed  would  stay  bought, 
but  he  kept  his  promises  to  his  committee-men, 
remembered  the  widows  and  orphans  of  trusted 
lieutenants,  saw  that  his  ward  got  its  share  of 
political  favors,  and  made  a  specialty  of  keeping 
track  of  young  men  who  might  be  useful.  He 
had  happened  to  be  in  court  the  day  of  Ted's 
victory,  and  learning  that  Ted's  office  was 
located  in  his  ward  and  that  Ted  shared  his 
political  predilections  his  heart  warmed  to  him. 
He  foresaw  possibilities  in  the  not  too  distant 
political  future,  and  dropping  a  word  here  and 
there  he  steered  some  business  into  Ted's  office, 
and  took  him  some  of  his  own.  The  promptness 
193 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

with  which  it  was  attended  to  assured  him  of 
what  he  already  guessed,  that  the  young  man 
was  not  driven  to  death  with  the  rush  of  busi- 
ness. For  several  reasons  this  suited  him. 

Late  one  wintry  afternoon  he  dropped  into 
the  office,  where  Ted  was  typewriting  a  letter 
to  Lorraine,  who  had  not  been  able  to  come 
down  the  preceding  Sunday. 

"If  ye're  busy,"  said  Mr.  Cahill  politely, 
"111  wait  till  'tis  finished." 

Ted  knew  it  would  be  more  dignified  to  pre- 
tend he  was  pressed  for  time,  but  he  also  knew 
that  honesty  was  the  only  policy  likely  to  win 
with  Michael  Cahill,  and  so  he  answered 
frankly,  "Your  time  is  worth  a  whole  lot  more 
than  mine,  Mr.  Cahill.  What  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

"Have  ye  kept  much  track  of  the  legislative 
proceedin's  ?"  asked  the  old  man  cautiously. 

"Fair,"  said  Ted  with  equal  caution;  for  in 
addition  to  reading  the  papers,  Lorraine  had 
sent  him  copies  of  bills  in  which  he  was  likely  to 
be  interested,  and  he  had  written  considerable 
legislative  gossip  in  his  letter  to  his  home  news- 
paper. Yet  he  might  not  even  know  the  num- 
194 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

ber  of  the  bill  in  which  Mr.  Cahill  was  interested. 
That  there  was  such  a  measure  he  did  not  doubt. 

"Ye  haven't  read  House  bill  one  hundred  and 
seventy-eight,  have  ye  ?"  ventured  Mr.  Cahill. 

"Lawton's  gerrymander,  you  mean?"  asked 
Ted  quickly. 

"The  same.     If  it  should  pass  the  Sinit  - 

"How  did  it  ever  get  through  the  House?" 
asked  Ted. 

"Money,"  answered  Cahill  briefly.  "We 
thought  'twas  safe;  it  only  passed  by  wan 
vote." 

"Well,  it's  gone  to  the  Sinit,"  he  continued, 
"and  has  been  referred  to  th'  elictions  com- 
mittay,"-  — Cahill  still  put  the  accent  on  the  first 
and  last  syllables  of  the  word, — "and  what  I'm 
wantin'  to  know  is  whether  it's  like  to  die  there, 
or  be  reported  out." 

The  two  men  sat  and  looked  at  each  other  in 
silence.  Ted  knew  the  bill  well.  It  was  an- 
other of  the  many  attempts  to  wrest  away 
some  part  of  the  representation  of  the  city  of 
New  York  and  give  it  to  other  sections  of  the 
state.  The  merits  of  the  bill  were  largely 
according  to  the  point  of  view.  The  chairman 
195 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

of  the  committee  to  which  the  bill  had  been 
referred  was  a  country  member,  from  the 
district  in  which  Ted  had  been  born,  and  the 
lad  was  well  acquainted  with  him.  He  knew, 
among  other  things,  that  he  expected  to  move 
to  the  metropolis  when  the  session  was  over. 
It  remained  to  be  seen  whether  the  future  or 
his  present  constituents  would  guide  him  in  his 
course  in  regard  to  this  bill. 

"Ye  haven't  a  stenographer,  have  ye  ?"  asked 
Cahill  irrelevantly. 

Ted  reddened.  "My  business  hasn't  war- 
ranted it,"  he  said  briefly.  "If  you  want  any- 
thing written,  I  can  do  it  for  you.'* 

"It  might  be  betther  to  have  wan,"  said 
Cahill  reflectively.  "Now,  if  ye  should  be 
called  out  of  the  office  suddenly,  it  looks  bet- 
ther and  more  businesslike.  I  know  a  handy 
boy  who's  taken  a  course  at  a  business  college. 
He's  dead  anxious  to  git  into  a  place  where  he 
can  study  law;  the  wages  manes  little  to  him. 
He's  the  son  of  Danny  Martin  in  the  Fift  Pre- 
cint.  'Tis  a  nice  lad  that  he  is.  Do  ye  think 
ye  could  thry  him,  and  then  if  ye  was  called  to 
Albany  ye  could  leave  him  in  the  office." 
196 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Ted's  brain  was  working  fast.  "Why  do 
you  want  me  to  go?  I'm  an  unknown  man; 
you  must  have  plenty  of  people  with  more 
experience  ?" 

"There's  reasons,"  said  the  old  man.  "They 
mean  to  push  this  bill  through  on  the  quiet. 
Nobody  knows  you  yet  and  nobody'll  ever 
think  av  putting  ye  and  this  bill  together.  You 
come  from  Herkimer  county;  mayhap  ye  know 
Hillis?" 

Ted  nodded  assent. 

"There's  no  cryin'  need  for  him  to  report  the 
bill  out  if  it  isn't  demanded,"  said  Cahill;  "it 
might  be  better  fer  him  if  he  didn't." 

Ted  looked  embarrassed.  "You  don't  want 
me  to  —  to  — " 

"No,"  answered  Cahill  shortly,  "neither  to 
bribe  nor  blackmail,  but  to  keep  thrack  of  it." 

Ted  picked  up  Lorraine's  last  letter.  "It 
won't  be  reported  unless  there  is  a  demand,"  he 
said  slowly. 

Cahill  jumped.  "How  d'  ye  know  ?"  he  asked 
eagerly. 

"It  wouldn't  be  exactly  professional  to  tell," 
answered  Ted;  "but  I  do  know  as  well  as 
197 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

one  can  know  anything  that  hasn't  happened. 
Hillis  will  not  send  the  bill  out  unless  it  is  de- 
manded, and  if  he  does  it  will  come  under  the 
adverse  reports,  and  have  to  go  over.  What 
we  have  to  look  out  for  is  Lawton;  he's  trying 
to  make  a  record.  Fortunately  he  has  incurred 
the  ill  will  of  several  of  his  own  party  in  the 
upper  house  in  doing  it,  and  that  won't  help  his 
bill  any  if  it  does  come  up." 

It  is  a  peculiarity  of  politicians,  shared  by 
several  other  kinds  of  people,  never  to  be  able 
to  understand  how  any  one  in  another  line  of 
business  may  yet  have  some  comprehension  of 
their  own.  Cahill  sat  looking  at  Ted,  lost  in 
admiration  and  wonder.  He  believed  him,  but 
he  could  not  account  for  the  knowledge  pos- 
sessed by  this  country  boy,  inexperienced  in 
politics. 

"Ye  think  'tis  not  necessary  to  go  to  Albany 
then?"  said  Mr.  Cahill,  rising;  he  wondered, 
too,  that  a  young  man  in  Ted's  position  should 
give  up  the  chance  of  so  pleasant  and  presuma- 
bly profitable  a  trip. 

"Not  now,"  answered  Ted.  "We  could  do 
nothing,  for  Hillis  is  no  more  anxious  to  have 
198 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

the  bill  come  up  than  we  are.  I  can  get  a  wire, 
and  know  at  least  a  day  sooner  than  any  one  else 
if  it  is  to  be  reported;  that  will  give  us  at  least 
three  days  to  act.  I'd  like  to  go  well  enough, 
but  I  don't  believe  in  spending  a  client's  money 
for  nothing,  or  when  it  isn't  necessary." 

"I  don't  believe  it  will  ever  be  asked  for," 
said  Mr.  Cahill. 

Ted  hesitated.  "I  do,"  he  said,  "but  I  may 
be  wrong.  I  would  advise  getting  a  line-up 
against  it,  and  tying  up  some  of  the  other  fellows 
who  have  important  bills,  so  as  to  have  some 
hold  over  them,  but  we  ought  to  be  ready  for  it 
when  it  does  come.  Be  sure  and  have  at  least 
six  of  the  most  important  bills  from  the  House 
and  from  his  party  tied  up.  And,  Mr.  Cahill,  if 
you  think  Mr.  Martin's  boy  would  be  willing  to 
come  here  for  the  pittance  I  can  pay,  and  take 
it  out  in  experience  and  reading  law  with  me, 
I'd  like  to  have  him." 

"Terry'll  be  here  in  th'  morning,"  said  Mr. 
Cahill,  beaming. 


199 


XXVI 

'  I  VHE  exigencies  of  politics  kept  Lorraine  in 
Albany;  and  persuading  her  paper  that  her 
stuff  would  be  greatly  improved  by  thumb-nail 
sketches,  she  had  descended  upon  the  basement 
and  taken  Bess  away  with  her.  The  fate  of  the 
gerrymander  bill  called  for  immediate  action, 
and  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of  Mr.  Cahill,  Ted 
also  departed  for  the  capital  city. 

Before  going  he  had  a  final  interview  with 
Mr.  Cahill,  who  gave  him  much  good  advice. 

"  Ye  may  meet  Baumgarten,"  he  said.  "  He's 
the  Rapublican  committee-man  from  this  pre- 
cinct, an'  a  good  fella,  barrin'  his  politics. 
But  this  time  we  have  th*  same  interests  and 
ye  can  talk  to  Baumgarten." 

"I'd  prefer  to  have  him  do  the  talking," 
said  Ted. 

"'Tis  the  best  way,"  admitted  Mr.   Cahill. 

"An'    don't    be    sparin'    with    telegraph    tolls. 

There's  ither  ways  of  economizing  will  be  more 

appreciated.     If  ye  need  help  bad  and  quick, 

200 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

telephone.  There's  reasons  why  we  prefer  to 
keep  our  known  men  out  av  this." 

"Are  you  perfectly  sure  of  Baumgarten?" 
asked  Ted. 

"I  am,  son;  in  politics  'tis  this  way;  this  is 
the  way  it  is.  'Tis  a  wheel;  what  goes  up  may 
stay  up  a  long  time,  but  'twill  come  down,  and  it's 
this  that  makes  it  interestin' — the  struggle  be- 
tween thim  that'd  keep  it  up  and  thim  as  is  pray- 
in'  and,  what's  more,  pullin'  to  make  it  come  down. 
No  man  that  lives  in  the  city  of  New  York  can 
afford  to  lave  go  wan  ripresentative.  We  must 
hold  what  we've  got,  'tis  none  too  much  as  it 
is,  Rapublican  or  Democrat.  No  man  has  anny 
business  in  politics,  son,  who  if  he's  a  Rapubli- 
can doesn't  look  forward  to  carryin'  Georgia, 
and  th'  ither  way  about.  Have  no  fears  of 
Baumgarten.  Now,  is  there  annything  I  can 
do  fer  ye  personally,  while  ye  are  away,  beside 
seeing  that  Terrence  is  behavin'  himself,  an' 
givin'  him  the  father  an'  mither  av  a  batin'  av 
he  doesn't  ?" 

Ted  hesitated.  Then  he  remembered  the 
coat  of  arms  of  the  geniuses  and  their  motto, 
—  "One  for  all,  all  for  one,"  -and  caught  a 
201 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

glimpse  of  the  sign  that  still  swung  idly  and 
hopelessly  across  the  hall.  An  epidemic  of  an 
unusual  form  of  meningitis  was  prevalent,  and 
he  remembered  that  the  board  of  health  had 
decided  upon  a  commission  of  physicians  to 
learn  the  cause;  he  remembered  also  Dr. 
Silverton's  prediction  of  almost  a  year  ago: 
"some  new  bacillus  will  come  to  the  rescue." 
Probably  Mr.  Cahill  would  not  take  kindly  to 
a  woman  physician,  but  he  was  not  too  old  to 
live  down  a  prejudice. 

"Yes;  there  is  one  thing,"  answered  Ted. 
"There's  a  doctor  who  is  a  friend  of  mine,  who 
has  an  office  across  the  hall.  If  you  could  get 
her  an  appointment  on  this  special  inquiry  the 
health  board  has  decided  on,  it  would  be  a  real 
favor." 

Michael  Cahill's  face  darkened.  "A  woman 
is  ut,  did  ye  say  ?" 

"Yes;  Dr.  Frances  Silverton,"  answered  Ted. 
"She  lives  in  this  ward." 

"Tis  little  difference  what  ward  a  woman 
lives  in,"  said  Mr.  Cahill  stiffly.  "But  I'll  see 
what  can  be  done." 

His  tone  was  not  promising,  and  Terry,  who 

202 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

had  been  a  silent  listener,  judged  that  the  time 
had  come  for  him  to  pay  his  debts. 

"Is  it  Dr.  Frank  you're  speaking  of,  begging 
your  pardon  for  the  question?"  he  asked. 
"She's  a  lady,  and  a  doctor  too.  She  set  me 
dog's  leg,  and  she  saved  the  Murphy  baby. 
She's  the  best  ever." 

"Castlereagh  Murphy?"  demanded  Mr.  Ca- 
hill. 

"Naw,  Dennis  Murphy;  she's  wastin'  no 
time  on  them  that's  rich.  But  when  the  vet. 
said  I'd  better  kill  me  dog  that  the  cart  run 
over,  she  done  up  his  leg  like  a  Christian,  and 
he's  a  good  dog  this  day.  Dennis  Murphy 
swears  by  her." 

Dennis  Murphy  was  a  worker  in  his  precinct, 
and  seventeenth  cousin  of  the  aristocratic  and 
wealthy  Castlereagh. 

"The  young  lady'll  have  the  place  in  the 
morning,"  he  said  to  Ted;  and  having  con- 
sented to  be  introduced  to  her,  Michael  Cahill 
went  off  to  attend  to  the  appointment  and  Ted 
took  the  next  train  for  Albany. 

Mount   Parnassus   was   fairly   deserted,    but 
those  who  remained  drew  closer  together,  and 
203 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Hope  tried  in  some  measure  to  brighten  the 
lives  of  the  two  women  so  sorely  stricken. 
Miss  Brent  rarely  left  the  house  now,  but  one 
sunny  afternoon  the  early  spring  tempted  her, 
and  she  accepted  the  invitation  of  some  friends 
and  went  for  a  drive,  leaving  Hope  and  Elise 
alone.  Miss  Brent's  secret  was  no  secret  to 
either  of  them,  but  so  long  as  it  pleased  her  to 
cherish  the  hope  that  she  was  deceiving  the 
patient  little  sister  who  was  suffering  hardly 
less  than  herself,  they  respected  her  wishes  and 
kept  up  the  delusion. 

Left  alone,  the  two  women  fell  into  each 
other's  arms  and  cried  together. 

"Is  there  no  hope  at  all?"  asked  little  Miss 
Elise.  "She  won't  tell  me  anything,  but  she 
has  been  to  Dr.  Powers,  the  best  cancer  special- 
ist in  this  city.  I  found  his  prescriptions.  Has 
she  told  you  anything,  or  Lorraine  ?  Don't 
answer  if  I  am  right,  and  I  shall  know  by  your 
silence." 

The  brave,  frail  little  woman  looked  at  her 

with  a  face  that  showed  the  struggle  of  hope 

and  despair,  but  Hope's  tear-stained  face  gave 

no  reassurance,  and  she  went  on.     "I  knew  it; 

204 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

I've  known  it  ever  since  it  recurred,  but  if  it 
makes  her  happier  to  think  I  don't,  why  she 
must  think  so,  and  we  must  help  her  to  deceive 
herself.  Do  you  know  how  long  —  about  how 
long  it  will  be  now?" 

"Not  very  long,"  Hope  answered;  "and  we 
must  not  be  sorry,  though  she  does  not  suffer 
so  much  as  I  feared  she  would.  It  may  be 
several  months  yet.  She  has  such  wonderful 
vitality,  but  the  doctor  did  not  expect  it  would 
have  been  so  long  as  this.  Oh,  I  ought  not  to 
have  told  you!"  as  Elise  sank  down,  a  miser- 
able little  heap  in  the  old  rocking-chair. 

"How  am  I  to  go  on  living!"  she  said. 
"How  am  I  to  go  on  without  her!" 

"We  do  go  on  somehow,"  answered  Hope; 
"and  there  is  this  one  comfort  for  you,  it  can't 
be  long.  There  is  that  blessing  about  not 
being  young  any  more." 

They  sat  together  until  they  heard  the  sound 
of  wheels,  and  Rab's  joyful  bark.  In  an  in- 
stant Miss  Elise  jumped  up,  smiling  and  alert. 

"Will   she  see  the  tears?"   she  asked   anx- 
iously.    "Oh,    my    dear,  you   mustn't   go   out 
now;  she  will  know  you  have  been  crying!" 
205 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Hope  was  busily  dabbing  rose  water  on  Miss 
Elise's  face.  "You  go  out,"  she  said,  "and 
I'll  run  upstairs  and  let  you  in.  Even  if  she 
does  see  that  I've  been  crying  it  won't  hurt, 
because  I'm  a  blighted  being;  she  will  prob- 
ably scold  you  for  wasting  time  trying  to  com- 
fort me." 

Miss  Elise  fled  up  the  basement  steps  and 
Hope  went  to  the  front  door,  her  heart  so 
heavy  that  it  seemed  to  weigh  down  the  soles 
of  her  shoes. 


206 


XXVII 

again'"  said  Miss  Brent»  "never 
again  while  I  have  the  breath  of  life  will 
I  waste  it  advising  any  one  to  fall  in  love,  by 
way  of  arousing  latent  talent.  Look  at  Hope." 

"As  I  remember  it,  you  didn't  advise  it;  that 
was  Lorraine's  charming  idea,"  answered  her 
sister;  "but  then,  on  the  other  hand,  look  at 
Louis.  That  last  play  of  his  is  worth  all  the 
rest  put  together.  There's  more  feeling  and 
power  than  in  anything  he  has  ever  done. 
Making  ladders  of  our  dead  selves,  our  broken 
hearts,  and  our  blasted  ambitions  may  be  a 
hard  way  to  rise  in  the  world,  but  it's  effective. 
Speaking  of  angels,  there  comes  the  boy  now. 
How  pale  he  is!" 

"That's  excitement  as  well  as  a  broken 
heart,"  answered  Miss  Emma.  "I  hope  he'll 
come  in  and  tell  us  about  it." 

The  turn  of  the  key  was  followed  by  a  quick 
tap  at  the  door,  which  Miss  Elise  flung  hos- 
pitably open.  Louis  was  distinctly  her  favor- 
207 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

ite.  "What  is  it?"  she  said.  "You  look  as 
if  you  had  seen  a  ghost,  and  it  had  thrice 
offered  you  a  kingly  crown.  You're  not  going 
to  reject  it,  I  hope." 

The  boy  subsided  into  a  chair,  with  a  gest- 
ure of  utter  despondency. 

"Have  they  refused  it?"  said  Miss  Elise 
breathlessly. 

"Have  they  taken  it  ?"  asked  Miss  Brent. 

"Both,"  he  said.  "When  I  submitted  it  to 
Mr.  Raymer  he  said  at  once  that  he  wanted 
to  star  Mrs.  Campbell  in  it,  but  it  should  be 
rewritten  in  several  scenes  to  suit  her.  He  ar- 
ranged for  me  to  meet  her,  and  she  read  the 
play  and  professed  to  be  delighted,  but  wanted 
at  least  one  more  act.  Well,  I  wrote  it  over 
twice  more  before  I  was  satisfied.  Then  I 
learned  that  Mrs.  Campbell  was  to  be  in 
Chicago,  —  you  know  she's  been  starring  all 
winter,  —  so  I  wrote  and  made  an  appoint- 
ment, and  went  on  to  see  her.  She  was  ill.  I 
waited  a  week;  and  you  know  what  that 
means  to  a  lean  and  hungry  pocketbook  like 
mine.  Finally  she  sent  me  word  that  any 
arrangement  I  made  with  Mr.  Raymer  would 
208 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

be  satisfactory  to  her,  and  I've  just  come  from 
an  interview  with  him." 

"Well?"  cried  both  old  ladies. 

"Well,"  with  a  sigh,  "he  wants  it  cut  to 
three  acts  again,  and  the  leading  man  given  a 
little  more  work.  The  company  is  to  be  re- 
organized. He'll  take  the  play  as  it  is,  and 
have  Weston  cut  it,  or  he'll  allow  me  to  cut  it 
myself;  but  inasmuch  as  my  whole  future  is 
involved,  I'd  prefer  to  be  my  own  Shylock. 
Weston  ?  Oh,  he's  a  kind  of  general  utility 
man,  a  kind  of  human  call-board;  I  guess  they 
have  them  in  all  theaters.  It  is  their  business 
to  telescope  plays,  pull  them  out  or  shut  them 
up  to  the  required  length.  If  *  Richard  the 
Third'  wasn't  long  enough  they'd  write  an- 
other act;  and  if  'Hamlet'  could  be  improved  by 
leaving  Hamlet  out,  out  he'd  go;  and  if  the 
rose  garden  in  'If  I  Were  King'  would  appeal 
to  the  galleries  by  tethering  a  spotted  calf  at 
the  right  of  the  stairway,  the  spotted  calf  would 
go  in." 

"If  that's  the  way  they  do,  it's  no  wonder 
the  managers  have  a  hard  time  to  find  plays," 
sniffed  Miss  Elise. 

209 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"  I  remember  well  when  Mr.  Palmer  retired," 
said  her  sister.  "We  were  all  so  sorry;  it 
seems  to  me  the  stage  has  never  been  the  same 
since;  he  said  at  the  time  that  he  gave  it  up 
because  he  'found  it  impossible  to  secure  new 
and  attractive  material  for  his  theater/  But 
don't  take  it  too  much  to  heart  if  you  have 
to  rewrite  and  revise;  all  those  things  are 
sure  signs  of  genius.  Don't  you  remember 
Sheridan  had  to  take  'The  Rivals'  off  and  cut 
it  square  in  two  ?  Let  me  read  you  a  scrap 
out  of  his  preface;  I  think  it  will  encourage 
you." 

She  fumbled  around  for  her  spectacles,  and 
pulled  down  a  richly  bound,  but  much  worn 
volume.  "Now  listen  to  this,"  she  said,  "and 
if  you  don't  say  'here's  richness,'  I  miss  my 
guess. 

'"In  the  dramatic  line  it  may  happen  that 
both  an  author  and  a  manager  may  wish  to 
fill  a  chasm  in  the  entertainment  of  the  public 
with  a  hastiness  not  altogether  culpable.  The 
season  was  far  advanced  when  I  first  put  the 
play  in  Mr.  Harris'  hands.  It  was  at  that 
time  at  least  double  the  length  of  any  acting 
210 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

comedy.  I  profited  by  his  judgment  and  ex- 
perience in  the  curtailing  of  it,  till  I  believe 
his  feeling  for  the  vanity  of  a  young  author 
got  the  better  of  his  desire  for  correctness  and 
he  left  many  excrescences  remaining,  because 
he  had  assisted  in  pruning  so  many  more. 

Many  other  errors  there  were,  which  might 
in  part  have  arisen  from  my  being  by  no  means 
conversant  with  plays  in  general,  either  in  read- 
ing or  at  the  theater.  Yet  I  own  that,  in  one 
respect,  I  did  not  regret  my  ignorance,  for  as 
my  first  wish  in  attempting  a  play  was  to 
avoid  every  appearance  of  plagiary  I  thought 
I  should  stand  a  better  chance  of  effecting  this 
from  being  in  a  walk  which  I  had  not  frequented, 
and  where,  consequently,  the  process  of  inven- 
tion was  less  likely  to  be  interrupted  by  starts 
of  recollection;  for  on  subjects  on  which  the 
mind  has  been  much  informed,  invention  is 
slow  of  exerting  itself.  Faded  ideas  float  in  the 
fancy  like  half-forgotten  dreams,  and  the  im- 
agination in  its  fullest  enjoyments  becomes 
suspicious  of  its  offspring,  and  doubts  whether 
it  has  created  or  adopted/  Now,  isn't  that 
some  comfort  ?" 

211 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

Louis  bowed.  "I  cannot  do  better  than 
answer  by  the  book,'*  he  said,  with  a  half 
laugh.  "Here's  Bob  Acres  for  you:  'Your 
words  are  a  grenadier's  march  to  my  heart! 
I  believe  courage  must  be  catching!  I  cer- 
tainly do  feel  a  kind  of  valor  rising  as  it  were, 
—  a  kind  of  courage' ;  but  I'm  so  tired  of 
all  this  uncertainty.  I  can't  go  on  with  any- 
thing else,  and  I  can't  cut  this  play.  I've 
worked  over  it  till  —  what's  that  he  says  ?  — 
'faded  ideas  float  in  the  fancy  like  half-forgotten 
dreams.'  My  mind's  all  hazy  with  it,  if  you 
can  understand  that." 

Miss  Brent  looked  at  Elise  and  hesitated  a 
minute,  until  she  nodded  acquiescence.  "Show 
it  to  Hope,"  she  said.  "  Just  give  it  to  her 
and  ask  her  to  cut  mercilessly.  She  knows 
more  about  plays  and  players  than  any- 
body I  know.  We'll  send  Rab  down  for 
her." 

Louis  turned  a  shade  paler,  walked  up  and 
down  a  time  or  so,  and  then  gave  the  manu- 
script to  Miss  Brent.  "  I'll  leave  it  with  you," 
he  said.  "If  she  will  be  so  kind,  I  believe  now 
her  judgment  would  be  better  than  mine." 
212 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

He  left  the  room  abruptly,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  Rab  trotted  downstairs  with  a  tiny  note. 

"Poor  boy,"  soliloquized  Miss  Elise,  "he's 
hard  hit,  but  he  is  bearing  it  like  a  man,  and 
—  maybe  things  will  end  right." 


213 


XXVIII 

T  TOPE  came  upstairs  and  listened  to  Miss 
Brent's  explanation.  She  took  up  the 
beautifully  typewritten  pages  and  looked  at 
them  absently. 

"You  have  such  good  judgment  and  dra- 
matic insight,  and  you  have  read  so  many 
plays,"  said  Miss  Brent,  "and  the  poor  lad  is 
in  such  trouble  about  it.  See  if  you  can't 
make  some  suggestions." 

"'Sure  if  I  reprehend  anything  in  this  world 
it  is  the  use  of  my  oracular  tongue,  and  a  nice 
derangement  of  epitaphs,"'  answered  Hope 
with  an  assumption  of  Mrs.  Malaprop  that 
sent  both  old  ladies  off  into  ecstasies;  "but  it 
doesn't  seem  fair  for  me  to  pass  on  other 
people's  work  when  I'm  such  a  failure  my- 
self, and  as  Lydia  Languish  says,  'have  come 
to  you  with  such  an  appetite  for  consola- 
tion/" 

"Poor  dear,"  said  Miss  Elise.  "Stay  and 
have  tea  with  us,  and  read  the  play  aloud,  if 
214 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

you're  not  too  tired.  Maybe  we  can  all  help. 
Will  Lorraine  be  down  Saturday?" 

"She  doesn't  say,"  answered  Hope;  "but  I 
hardly  think  so;  she  said  she  had  wired  Teddy 
that  House  bill  one  hundred  and  seventy-eight 
would  be  reported  Monday,  and  she  evidently 
expects  he  will  come  up  post  haste." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Miss  Elise. 

"The  bill?  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea. 
Lorraine  has  a  natural  gift  for  politics;  she  can 
keep  track  of  more  bills  in  her  head  than  I 
could  on  both  sides  of  a  slate,  and  she  is  act- 
ually interested  in  it  all.  I  can't  seem  to  see 
any  difference.  When  we  have  a  Republican 
mayor  the  streets  are  dirty  and  wet,  and  when 
we  have  a  Democratic  mayor  they  are  wet  and 
dirty.  Whoever  is  out  of  power  tells  how  well 
that  party  would  do  if  it  were  in,  and  whoever 
is  in  tells  of  the  vast  improvements  it  has  made. 
I  can't  see  what  good  legislation  is  going  to  do, 
but  to  hear  Ted  and  Lorraine  when  they  get 
together,  one  would  think  election  day  was  the 
earth's  axis,  upon  which  turns  the  fate  of  na- 
tions." 

"Sometimes  it  does  turn  the  fate  of  nations," 
215 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

answered  Miss  Brent  gravely.  "I  remember 
election  day  in  1864." 

"Why,  was  that  election  anything  to  be 
compared  with  that  of  1860?"  asked  Hope. 

The  old  lady  threw  up  her  hands  in  mock 
despair.  "What  a  pity  it  is,"  she  said  dryly, 
"that  American  history  is  not  taught  in  the 
public  schools!  You  of  the  younger  generation 
seem  to  have  an  idea  that  Lincoln  was  always 
revered  as  his  memory  is  now.  I  suppose  you 
think  all  he  had  to  do  in  1864  was  to  write  his 
letter  of  acceptance  and  prepare  his  second 
inaugural  address.  As  a  matter  of  fact  in 
August  of  that  year  he  did  not  expect  to  be 
re-elected.  Thurlow  Weed  told  him  it  was 
impossible,  and  I  know  of  nothing  finer  in 
history  than  his  statement  written  at  that  time, 
pledging  himself,  in  case  of  his  defeat,  to  co- 
operate with  the  President-elect  to  save  the 
Union.  He  sealed  it  up,  and  had  it  indorsed 
by  each  member  of  his  Cabinet,  and  did  not 
tell  them  its  contents  until  after  his  election. 
Do  you  know  that  there  were  people  who  were 
proud  to  be  called  'Copperheads'  and  'Butter- 
nuts,' and  wore  those  insignia  as  emblems  of 
216 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

their  opposition  to  the  President  ?  Do  you  re- 
member those  banners,  Elise,  with  the  words, 
'The  War  is  a  Failure,'  and  Lincoln  pictured 
as  a  baboon  ?  Why,  the  governor  of  this  very 
state  said  that  Lincoln  couldn't  save  the  Union 
if  he  wanted  to.  Good  gracious,  child,  you 
may  think  the  election  of  1864  unimportant, 
but  they  didn't  so  regard  it  in  the  South. 
Jefferson  Davis  said  the  real  issue  was  the  con- 
tinuance or  cessation  of  the  war,  in  which,  for 
once,  he  entirely  agreed  with  Lincoln.  Don't 
forget  that  if  Washington  had  his  Valley  Forge, 
Lincoln  had  the  draft  riots  and  the  peace-at- 
any-price  party  at  home  in  addition  to  the  foe 
in  the  field.  History  is  pretty  much  all  of  it  a 
battle  and  a  march,  and  most  of  our  heroes 
have  worn  the  crown  of  thorns  for  years  be- 
fore we  were  willing  to  give  them  the  laurel 
wreath." 

"Well,  I  agree  with  Hope,"  said  Miss  Elise. 
"  I'm  glad  Lorraine  is  interested  and  successful, 
but  I  can't  see  how  she  and  Ted  can  be  so 
bound  up  in  it,  or  believe  anything  one  man 
can  do  is  going  to  make  much  difference.  I've 
lived  long  enough  so  I  don't  think  the  state 
217 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

or  the  country  is  going  to  the  dogs,  no  matter 
who  is  elected." 

"It's  you  'don't  care'  people  who  may  prove 
the  destruction  of  this  nation,"  said  her  sister 
severely.  "If  I'd  had  a  vote  it  would  always 
have  gone  for  the  Republican  party,  but  I'd 
a  great  deal  rather  people  voted  the  Democratic 
ticket  than  that  they  didn't  care  enough  to 
vote  at  all." 

"I'm  a  mugwump,"  said  Miss  Elise.  "I'd 
vote  for  the  best  man,  and  I  don't  think  either 
party's  got  all  of  them." 

"You'd  agree  with  Lorraine  then,"  said  Hope. 
"She  says  she  can't  stand  the  Senate  chaplain 
because  he  always  prays  as  if  he  thought  the 
Lord  was  a  Republican.  But  it's  their  vital 
interest  that  I  envy  her  and  Ted.  They're 
completely  absorbed  in  their  work,  and  they 
look  upon  politics  as  a  high  and  lofty  calling, 
instead  of  a  'pool.'  I  can't  understand  it." 

"It  is  or  it  ought  to  be  a  high  and  lofty 
calling,"  said  Miss  Brent,  "and  one  man  can 
do  much  if  he  wants  to;  in  fact  ail  history  is  a 
record  of  the  accomplishments  of  the  one-man 
power.  Look  at  the  work  done  right  in  this 
218 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

city  by  men  with  the  courage  of  their  convic- 
tions. Look  at  Nast  with  his  lead  pencil,  at 
Henry  Bergh,  at  Abraham  Lincoln.  One  man 
can  do  almost  anything  if  he  sets  his  mind  to 
it  and  says,  'This  one  thing  I  do." 

"Louis  is  just  as  bad  in  his  own  line,"  said 
Miss  Elise.  "In  politics  one  must  be  a  good 
bit  of  an  altruist  to  be  a  reformer;  but  one  may 
have  noble  aspirations,  even  when  his  achieve- 
ments would  redound  principally  to  his  own 
honor.  Louis  believes  that  the  stage  has  never 
begun  to  occupy  the  place  in  our  lives  which  it 
should.  He  believes  in  holding  the  mirror  up 
to  Nature  until  she  changes  the  pictures  she 
does  not  like.  Besides,  it  is  not  Nature  that  is 
so  ugly,  but  the  artificial  part  of  our  lives." 

"Yes,"  Hope  assented.  "Don't  you  see  it 
is  this  that  makes  me  so  discontented  ?  Lor- 
raine is  satisfied,  though  she  knows  her  work 
is  absolutely  ephemeral;  it  has  its  moment  and 
that  moment's  influence,  and  then  is  gone.  Ted 
has  learned  already  something  of  the  power  of  his 
profession;  Prince  Karl  is  going  out  into  the 
world  armed  cap-a-pie;  Paul  pours  his  very  soul 
into  his  music;  Bess  already  dreams  of  Rome— 
219 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"Of  home,"  corrected  Miss  Brent  in  an  aside 
to  Elise. 

"And  Louis  sees  his  work  before  him,  real, 
living;  and  if  it  struts  but  a  little  hour  upon 
the  stage,  it  is  nevertheless  instinct  with  life 
itself.  Don't  you  see  how  out  of  tune  I  am  ? 
Music  ?  I  don't  pretend  to  understand  it;  I 
can  only  love  it.  Art  ?  I  can  admire,  that  is 
all.  Books  ?  I  do  fairly  well  as  a  critic,  but 
what  an  ungracious  part,  and  the  more  so 
because  when  I  attempt  to  write  it  is  as  if  I 
had  climbed  to  some  lofty  peak  where  I  beheld 
the  broad  earth  as  a  map  before  me,  and  if  I 
could  lift  up  my  voice  and  chant  my  hymn  of 
praise  then  and  there  it  might  be  worth  the 
hearing,  but  by  the  time  I  have  descended  to 
the  valley  the  glow  and  the  glory  have  departed. 
If  I  find  my  ideas  at  all  they  are  drowned  in 
the  inkstand." 

"The  real  artistic  type  must  always  dwell  on 
the  heights,"  said  Miss  Brent.  "Didn't  you 
see  'The  Sunken  Bell'?  That  is  the  lesson; 
you  must  be  willing  to  leave  the  valley  and  live 
alone  upon  the  height." 

"Didn't  I  see  it?"  cried  Hope,  her  eyes 
220 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

shining;  "do  you  remember  the  lines  when 
Rautendelein  looks  at  the  tear  upon  her  finger, 
and  how  the  Nickelmann  says: 

'A  wondrous  gem! 

Within  that  little  globe  lies  all  the  pain, 
And  all  the  joy,  the  world  can  ever  know. 
'Tis  called  —  a  tear!' 

And  yet,  I  think  one  should  always  read 
'Peer  Gynt'  as  an  offset  to  'The  Sunken  Bell.' 
There  the  lesson  is  that  the  great  joy  of  all  his 
life,  which  he  has  sought  all  round  the  world, 
is  the  joy  he  left  upon  the  mountainside.  Oh, 
I  mustn't  talk  about  those  things;  it  only  makes 
things  harder!  In  a  few  weeks  I  am  going 
back  home  to  apply  for  the  summer  school.  If 
they  refuse  me,  as  they  probably  will,  I  shall 
take  summer  boarders.  Maybe  they  will  ap- 
preciate me." 

"Never,"  said  Miss  Brent  solemnly.  "Don't 
throw  yourself  away  so;  no  one  on  earth  but 
Edith  Wharton  or  Henry  James  could  ever 
possibly  do  justice  to  the  delicate  subtlety  of 
your  waffles.  They  would  be  wasted  on  or- 
dinary humanity.  Come,  let's  have  the  play  - 
221 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

'The  play's  the  thing,'"  acquiesced  Hope, 
taking  the  low  chair  under  the  drop  light,  and 
gathering  up  the  loose  pages;  "but  in  the  mood 
Fm  in  to-night,  I  think,  if  I  were  Louis, '  I  had 
as  lief  the  town  crier  had  spoke  my  lines."1 
Nevertheless,  she  read  it  rarely  well. 


222 


XXIX 

BRENT  had  heard  the  hours  and  the 
half  hours  strike  as  she  lay  in  her  big 
four-poster  bed  and  fought  her  never-ceasing 
battle  with  pain.  It  was  half  past  twelve,  and 
the  fire  that  always  burned  in  the  old-fashioned 
fireplace  had  smouldered  down  to  a  few  brands 
gleaming  dully  through  the  white  ashes.  Save 
for  this  the  room  was  in  darkness.  The  old 
lady  crept  painfully  out  of  bed,  feeling  about  for 
her  bedroom  slippers,  and  drew  her  dressing- 
gown  about  her.  The  room  was  chilly  and  she 
shivered,  partly  with  cold  and  partly  with  ex- 
haustion, as  she  lit  the  candle  and  looked  for 
her  medicine. 

"I  wish  Lorraine  were  here,"  she  said  im- 
patiently, "or  that  I  hadn't  let  Elise  go.  I 
can't  see  why  Catherine  has  to  take  it  into  her 
head  that  Elise  is  a  specific  for  neuralgia.  I 
don't  mean  to  break  down  and  be  sick  and 
keep  people  trotting  up  and  down  waiting  on 
me,  but  there's  no  denying  that  I'm  awfully 
223 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

bad  company  for  myself.  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  have  a  nurse,"  she  rambled  on,  still  search- 
ing for  the  medicine  among  the  assortment  of 
cleanly  litter  that  covered  her  table.  "  My  poor 
old  eyes  are  not  good  for  much.  Why  can't 
things  stay  where  they  are  put  ?  Oh,  here  it  is ! " 

She  took  up  the  bottle.  It  was  almost  empty. 
"That  means  I've  got  to  go  out  into  that 
drafty  hall  for  some  more  of  it.  I  never  had 
to  take  so  much  before,  and  it  hasn't  done  any 
more  good  than  water." 

She  sat  down  to  rest  for  a  moment  as  a 
paroxysm  of  pain  came  over  her,  still  clutching 
the  vial  in  her  hands.  As  the  agony  of  suffer- 
ing subsided  for  a  moment  and  she  sat  huddled 
over  in  the  chair,  too  weak  to  rise,  her  atten- 
tion seemed  to  fix  itself  upon  the  bottle  in  her 
hands,  and  slowly  the  light  of  a  desperate 
determination  dawned  upon  her  face.  "Why 
not?"  she  said  grimly.  "It's  got  to  come, 
sooner  or  later;  God  knows  it  ought  to  have  been 
sooner  than  this.  The  doctor  promised  me  it 
wouldn't  be  long,  and  every  day  is  a  year.  What 
use  is  there  in  suffering  like  this  ?  Nobody  will 
know  —  just  a  little  more  than  usual — " 
224 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

She  stood  up  and  drew  her  robe  about  her, 
and  taking  up  the  candle  went  to  the  medicine 
closet  midway  in  the  hall.  "I  don't  want  to 
get  carbolic  acid  by  mistake,"  she  said,  fumbling 
among  the  bottles  and  peering  at  the  labels 
with  her  near-sighted  eyes.  As  she  stood  in 
the  long,  dark  hall,  the  dim  gas-light  near  the 
front  door  and  Egyptian  darkness  at  the  other 
end,  her  candle  making  grotesque  shadows,  she 
heard  a  strange  sound,  half  a  groan,  half  a  long- 
drawn  sigh,  and  then  the  bell  in  a  near-by 
steeple  tolled  one. 

"I'm  getting  nervous,"  she  said.  "Oh,  it's 
quite  time  to  be  going  when  one  gets  to  seeing 
phantoms  and  hearing  ghostly  noises  —  what's 
that?"  she  said  sharply  as  it  came  again. 
She  put  down  the  vial  and  stood  listening  in- 
tently. Rab,  who  had  followed  her,  whined 
and  ran  to  the  bedroom  door  at  the  far  end 
of  the  hall  and  came  back,  whimpering  and 
frightened.  She  caught  up  her  candle  and 
hurried  down  the  dim  passageway,  but  the  door 
was  fastened  on  the  inside  and  her  feeble 
strength  was  not  sufficient  to  stir  it.  The 
sounds  which  came  from  within  were  growing 
225 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

fainter.  With  that  clearness  of  mental  vision 
that  often  accompanies  extreme  physical  debil- 
ity a  dozen  ideas  flashed  through  her  brain  and 
she  remembered  that  the  doorway  leading  from 
the  hall  bedroom  to  Elise's  room,  long  ago 
metamorphosed  into  a  closet  by  hooks  and 
portieres  and  unused  for  its  original  purpose, 
had  never  been  nailed  up;  Elise  had  merely 
turned  the  key  when  she  gave  up  her  dressing- 
room  to  some  unfortunate  pensioner  years  ago. 
Hurrying  back  through  her  own  room  and  that 
of  her  sister,  she  found  the  key  still  in  the  lock 
and,  turning  it,  wrenched  the  door  open.  Hope 
was  lying  upon  the  narrow  bed,  her  long  black 
hair  streaming  over  the  pillows  and  her  face 
concealed  beneath  the  folds  of  a  thick  towel. 
The  fumes  of  chloroform  were  overpowering. 
With  the  energy  of  terror  Miss  Brent  snatched 
the  towel  from  the  girl's  face  and  threw  up  the 
window.  She  lay  white  and  still,  no  sound 
coming  from  her  lips,  and  if  her  heart  beat  at 
all  the  poor  old  lady  was  too  agitated  to  find 
the  feeble  pulse.  Painfully  she  hurried  back 
to  the  medicine  closet  and,  finding  a  bottle  of 
brandy,  returned  to  her  patient,  but  her  teeth 
226 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

were  set.  "What  shall  I  do?"  wailed  Miss 
Brent,  vainly  trying  to  force  the  rigid  jaws 
apart.  She  threw  open  the  door  into  the  hall, 
determined  to  call  for  aid,  and  the  night  wind 
blowing  through  the  open  window,  her  candle 
flickered  and  went  out.  At  the  same  moment 
she  heard  a  latch-key,  the  front  door  opened, 
and  Louis  entered. 

"Thank  God!"  she  cried.  "Come  here.  Oh, 
hurry,  or  you  will  be  too  late!" 

The  young  man  stood  bewildered,  the  hall 
lamp  being  too  dim  for  him  to  see  clearly,  and 
then  as  he  distinguished  her  in  the  darkness 
hurried  forward,  throwing  off  his  hat  and  over- 
coat as  he  did  so.  As  he  lit  the  gas  one  glance 
told  him  the  whole  story. 

"Leave  the  door  open,"  he  said;  "the  cold 
wind  blowing  on  her  may  revive  her."  He  took 
the  pillow  from  under  her  head,  and  put  his 
hand  on  her  heart.  "Have  you  any  brandy  ?" 
he  asked.  "Let  me  have  it  and  a  spoon."  He 
pried  the  close-shut  teeth  apart  and  poured  a 
little  brandy  down  her  throat,  then  caught  up 
her  hands  and  chafed  and  beat  them,  but  she 
showed  no  sign  of  life. 

227 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

"Is  she  gone?"  whispered  Miss  Brent. 
"Can't  we  send  for  a  doctor?" 

He  held  a  hand-mirror  over  her  face.  There 
was  a  faint  shadow  on  its  bright  surface.  "  We'll 
save  her  yet,"  he  said.  "There  isn't  time  to 
go  for  a  doctor,  but  I  must  make  her  breathe." 
Taking  her  arms  in  his  firm  grasp,  he  moved 
them  outward  and  then  across  her  body  much 
as  one  would  to  resuscitate  the  drowned. 

"Bring  her  into  my  room,"  said  Miss  Brent. 
"The  scent  of  the  chloroform  is  still  sickening 
here,  and  maybe  the  warmth  will  help  - 

A  faint  sigh  came  from  the  pallid  lips. 
"Quick,  the  brandy."  He  poured  the  burning 
liquid  down  her  throat  and  she  stirred  a  little 
as  if  too  weak  to  resist.  "Now  I  can  move 
her,  I  think,"  he  said,  and  gathering  her  up 
very  tenderly,  he  carried  her  into  the  other 
room  and  put  her  on  Miss  Brent's  bed.  He 
made  up  a  bright  fire  in  the  grate  and,  wheeling 
Miss  Brent's  couch  before  it,  made  her  lie 
down,  for  she  was  exhausted  with  all  the  con- 
flicting emotions  of  the  last  hour.  "It  isn't 
best  to  bring  her  out  of  it  too  quickly,"  he  said, 
after  watching  beside  the  patient  a  little  longer. 
228 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"While  she  continues  to  breathe  as  regularly 
as  she  does  there  is  no  danger.  In  fact  the 
only  thing  I  dread  is  heart  failure,  and  her 
pulse  seems  strong,  though  it  is  very  slow." 
As  she  stirred  restlessly  he  drew  back  into  the 
shadow.  "She  may  sleep;  the  drug  relaxes  all 
the  nervous  tension,  and  if  she  can,  so  much 
the  better,"  he  went  on  presently.  "I  am 
going  to  lie  down  on  the  couch  in  the  hall 
where  I  shall  hear  even  a  whisper  if  you  need 
me,  but  she  is  likely  to  rouse  at  any  time  and 
it  will  be  better  for  her  to  find  no  one  but  you 
when  she  wakens."  He  turned  and  took  both 
Miss  Brent's  hands.  "If  there  is  the  slightest 
change,  you  will  call  me  ?"  he  entreated. 

"What  else  would  I  do  ?"  the  old  lady  asked 
reassuringly.  "You  have  saved  her  life.  I 
never  could  have  managed  by  myself." 

The  girl  slept  fitfully  until  morning,  but  as 
the  gray  half  light  crept  through  the  closed 
blinds,  she  struggled  slowly  back  to  conscious- 
ness of  the  past  as  well  as  the  present. 

"Why  did  you  bring  me  back!"  she  cried; 
"why  did  you!" 

"We  couldn't  spare  you  yet,  Hope,"  the  old 
229 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

lady  said,  bending  over  her,  and  putting  back 
the  loosened  hair.  "I,  who  am  so  near  the 
end  of  my  journey,  beg  you  to  stay.  Some- 
thing tells  me  that  life  will  yet  be  worth  living 
for  you.  I  do  not  know  why,  but  we  are  apt 
to  think  that  those  who  have  passed  to  life 
eternal  are  wiser  than  we,  with  a  mysterious 
second  sight.  Standing  as  I  do  at  the  very 
limits  of  life,  where  its  western  horizon  is  dark 
with  night,  I  seem  to  see  the  dawn  come  in  the 
east.  Life  has  not  been  easy  for  me,  but  it 
has  been  interesting  and  worth  living,  and  after 
a  while  it  will  be  so  for  you.  Think,  dear,  of 
the  heavy  hearts  in  this  house  if  you  had  left 
us  so.  Lorraine  would  always  have  reproached 
me  for  not  taking  better  care  of  you." 

"She  made  me  promise  to  take  care  of  you," 
sobbed  Hope,  "and  I  did  mean  to,  I  did  try 
to  be  strong,  and  put  myself  into  my  work ;  but 
oh,  Miss  Emma,  you  don't  know,  you  don't 
know  the  pain  that  seems  eating  my  very  heart 
out!" 

Miss  Brent  hesitated  a  moment.  "Yes,  I 
think  I  know,"  she  said  slowly.  "I  don't  say 
that  the  pain  I  bear  is  worse;  perhaps  it  is  not 
230 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

so  bad,  but  oh,  my  dear,  it  is  eating  into  my 
heart!  For  months  and  months  it  has  been 
creeping  nearer  and  nearer  like  slow  fire.  I  have 
prayed  that  this  stout  old  heart  of  mine  might 
fail  and  let  me  escape  some  portion  of  the  long- 
drawn  agony,  but  it  does  not  lose  a  beat,  and 
every  day  I  wonder  whether  it  is  possible  for 
me  to  endure  another  twenty-four  hours.  Prom- 
ise me,  Hope,  that  you  will  be  brave,  —  or  I 
must  write  Lorraine." 

"Don't  tell  her,"  said  the  girl.  "She  could 
not  understand,  for  all  she  talked  as  if  it  might 
be  right  that  evening  so  long  ago.  I  knew  she 
didn't  really  mean  it." 

"No  one  shall  know,"  answered  Miss  Brent; 
"and  some  time  you  will  be  glad  you  did  not 
succeed,  though  that  may  not  seem  possible 
now.  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!  The  mortal  pain 
that  body  and  soul  can  bear  before  they  part 
company.  We  know  it,  you  and  I.  Help  me 
to  bear  these  last  few  months,  Hope,  for  I 
cannot  bear  them  alone." 


231 


XXX 

\X7TIETHER  or  not  Hope's  suggestions  met 
Louis'  approbation,  they  suited  Mr.  Ray- 
mer,  and  the  much  revised  play  was  put  on  for 
rehearsal.  With  it  was  to  be  played  the  curtain 
raiser  already  familiar  to  the  geniuses.  It  had 
been  the  play  that  Saturday  night,  the  last 
Saturday  they  had  ever  celebrated,  and  it  was 
the  first  bit  of  his  dramatic  work  that  Louis  had 
ever  shown  to  Hope.  It  was  a  slight  thing, 
depending  wholly  upon  the  art  of  the  player  for 
its  success;  but  since  the  play  had  been  cut  to 
three  acts  again,  something  else  was  needed  to 
round  out  the  evening. 

Now,  the  actress  who  was  to  take  the  leading 
part  had  sprained  her  ankle  and  could  not 
appear;  there  were  but  two  days  to  find  a 
substitute  and  the  understudy  was  terribly 
wooden.  After  fifteen  minutes,  Mr.  Raymer 
called  the  rehearsal  to  an  end. 

"She  is  impossibly  execrable  in  the  part,"  he 
said.  "You  must  see,  my  dear  Lassalle,  that 
232 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

it  is  better  to  give  it  up  than  to  take  chances 
of  spoiling  the  play  itself,  and  losing  you  a 
success  by  prejudicing  people  beforehand."  f 

"But  the  play  isn't  long  enough.  It  won't 
fill  an  evening,"  objected  Louis. 

"  Perhaps  you  know  some  one  who  can  take 
this  part  on  ten  minutes'  notice."  Mr.  Raymer 
was  coldly  sarcastic. 

Louis'  heart  gave  a  leap  and  stopped.  "Yes, 
I  do,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Raymer  almost  jumped.  "Where  is  she 
playing?  Can  we  get  her?"  he  asked. 

"She  isn't  an  actress,"  Louis  answered, 
something  of  the  other's  excitement  communi- 
cating itself  to  him,  "but  she  has  played  this 
and  knows  every  syllable  of  it,  and  does  it 
better  than  Miss  Trevyllyn  ever  has.  Oh,  if 
she  would  do  it;  if  she  only  would!" 

"Go,  get  her,"  answered  the  manager 
brusquely.  "We'll  wait;  take  a  cab  and  hurry. 
Who  is  she?" 

Louis'  mind  was  working  fast.  "Mr.  Ray- 
mer," he  said,  "I'll  go  for  her  on  one  con- 
dition. She  doesn't  know  that  you  have  taken 
this  play  or  ever  heard  of  it.  If  I  tell  her 
233 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

the  truth  it  will  frighten  her  and  she  will  think 
she  can't  do  it.  If  I  tell  her  you  have  given 
me  this  chance  to  present  the  play  to  you, 
she  won't  think  of  herself  at  all  and  can  do 
her  best." 

"And  if  she  fails,  as  she  probably  will,"  Mr. 
Raymer  said  to  himself,  "it  will  let  me  out  of 
a  scene.  Well,  go  on.  Clyde  can  read  his 
lines  as  if  he'd  never  seen  the  part  before.  Go 
get  her.  What  did  you  say  she  was  ?" 

"She  is  a  reader  for  one  of  the  big  publish- 
ing houses;  her  name  is  Hope  Lloyd.  I'll  be 
as  quick  as  I  can;"  and  he  was  off. 

Hope  hardly  understood  the  nature  of  her 
errand  until  they  were  in  the  cab.  Then  the 
one  point  clear  to  her  mind  was  that  a  great 
manager  might  take  Louis'  play  if  he  were 
favorably  impressed  with  it.  She  knew  too 
little  of  theaters  and  the  ways  of  managers  to 
see  how  improbable  this  was,  and,  taking  her 
part,  began  going  over  it  once  more  to  refresh 
her  mind.  Alas,  there  was  no  need!  Every 
incident  connected  with  that  Saturday  night 
was  indelibly  fixed  upon  her  memory.  But 
now  the  words  took  on  a  new  meaning,  and 
234 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

grew  instinct  with  a  feeling  unknown  before. 
As  they  entered  the  great,  gloomy  theater  that 
soft  spring  day,  she  was  living  over  again  that 
night  in  December.  She  acknowledged  the  in- 
troductions rather  dully,  and  with  a  lack  of 
comprehension  that  argued  ill  for  her.  Mr. 
Raymer  would  hardly  think  with  much  favor 
of  a  mere  amateur  who  could  appear  in  his 
presence  with  so  little  embarrassment.  Mr. 
Clyde,  the  leading  man,  shared  in  the  feeling 
of  wonderment,  not  unmixed  with  disdain,  but 
obediently  sat  at  one  side  of  the  dark  stage, 
with  his  lines  in  his  hand,  and  without  further 
preliminaries  the  little  play  began. 

"If  you  can't  sing,"  said  Mr.  Raymer,  "never 
mind  about  that  on  your  second  entrance." 

Hope  looked  a  little  puzzled,  but  answered 
quite  innocently,  "Oh,  enough  for  that;  will  you 
play  the  accompaniment  we  are  used  to,  Louis  ?" 
And  as  he  seated  himself  at  the  piano  she  left 
the  stage,  until  her  cue  came.  The  scene  with 

o   * 

the  actor  lover  was  played  with  much  restraint. 
Mr.  Raymer,  watching  like  a  hawk,  said  in  a 
quick  aside  to  Louis,  "Is  she  really  so  frozen, 
or  does  she  assume  it  ?" 
235 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"It  is  her  conception  of  the  part,"  Louis 
answered;  "you'll  see  in  a  moment." 

The  star  asks  insolently,  hardly  looking  at 
the  young  woman  who  stands  before  him  ask- 
ing for  a  chance  to  join  his  company,  "Can 
you  act?  Have  you  any  experience?"  and  the 
young  woman  proposes  the  little  scene,  portray- 
ing the  return  of  the  discarded  girl,  to  which 
he  gives  a  languid  assent.  In  an  instant  the 
restraint  vanished,  the  iceberg  thawed.  For 
her  second  entrance  she  came  dancing  on  the 
stage  singing  in  her  blithe  young  voice  that 
inimitable  little  chanson  that  seems  fairly  bub- 
bling over  with  gladness: 

"Dites  moi,  ma  jeune  belle, 
Ou  voulez-vous  aller  ?' ' 

There  was  a  little  rush  to  the  supposed 
cradle,  and  then  the  gay  preparations  for  the 
return  of  Francois  after  a  month's  absence, 
interspersed  with  apostrophes  to  the  baby,  and 
fragments  of  the  sparkling  song.  Then  came 
the  discovery  of  the  letter.  The  song  stopped 
in  the  middle  of  a  bar  with  a  sudden  minor 
discord.  Unbelievingly  she  tries  to  decipher  the 
236 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

letter  by  the  failing  light ;  so  far  it  is  disappoint- 
ment alone.  She  approaches  the  table,  the 
little  table  set  for  two,  and  half  mechanically 
goes  through  the  form  of  lighting  a  candle, 
and  stoops  to  read  the  sheet  of  paper  in  her 
hand  by  its  rays.  There  can  no  longer  be  any 
doubt;  the  paper  flutters  to  the  floor,  and  with 
a  strange,  white  face  in  which  the  horror  grows 
she  stands  facing  straight  front.  Then  as  if 
all  life  and  strength  and  hope  had  left  her  she 
sank  to  the  floor.  It  was  not  the  usual  heavy 
fall,  but  rather  as  if  every  bone  in  her  body 
were  broken  with  the  blow  that  has  come  upon 
her.  So  she  lay,  a  disconsolate  little  heap, 
while  the  player  forgot  his  lines  and  the  man- 
ager stared  at  Louis,  who  stood  stricken  with 
the  knowledge  that  for  his  sake  she  had  lived 
anew  her  own  tragedy,  smitten  with  the  recol- 
lection of  her  words,  "She  is  living,  playing,  if 
you  like,  her  own  life." 

Mr.  Raymer  recovered  himself  first,  and  gave 
the  cue  to  Clyde,  and  in  a  moment  it  was  all 
over,  and  Hope  was  listening  to  words  she 
hardly  understood. 

"A  reader,   a   critic,  you!"   he  was  saying. 

237 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"Any  fool  can  read  and  write  and  cavil.  You 
were  born  to  act,  to  live,  to  feel,  not  to  mull 
over  a  typewriter,  telling  other  people  how  to 
do  things.  Where  have  you  studied  acting  ? 
Why  hasn't  your  idiot  of  a  teacher  put  you  on 
before?" 

And  still  she  stood,  absolutely  inarticulate. 

"Lassalle,  my  boy,"  he  cried,  "she  doesn't 
believe  it;  she  looks  as  if  she  would  say, 
'WTiat  fire  is  in  mine  ears?'  Are  you  quite 
dumb  ?" 

"Oh,  do  you  mean  it  ?"  she  said,  coming  back 
from  a  personal  pain  almost  beyond  belief  to 
a  personal  joy  far  beyond  expression.  "I  never 
thought  of  the  acting;  Louis  said  if  you  liked 
the  play  —  Oh,  you  are  not  —  you  could  not 
say  it  unless  you  were  in  earnest,  could  you  ? 
I  have  longed  all  my  life  to  act  and  never 
dreamed  I  could." 

"And  why?"  asked  Mr.  Raymer,  half  irrita- 
bly; "are  real  actresses  so  numerous  that 
you  need  hesitate  ?  With  whom  have  you 
studied  ?" 

A  softer  light  came  into  her  eyes.  "With 
my  mother,"  she  said.  "She  taught  me  to  love 
238 


UNDER  THE  .HARROW 

Shakespeare  and  Sheridan  and  many  of  the  old 
writers  and  plays  that  are  forgotten  now.  She 
taught  me  to  use  my  voice  so  as  to  make  it 
carry,  and  made  me  learn  whole  acts  by  heart. 
If  she  had  lived  she  meant  to  have  given  me  a 
chance,  but  she  died  when  I  was  sixteen  and 
there  were  the  other  children,  so  I  gave  it  up, 
and  now  —  I  am  twenty-two.  Isn't  that  too 
old  to  begin  ?  Oh,  don't  let  me  hope,  unless 
you  know  I  can  make  the  old  dreams  come 
true!"  She  put  back  a  refractory  lock  of 
hair,  with  a  little  gesture  familiar  to  her 
friends. 

"Any  good  thing  can  come  to  Rose  Farron's 
daughter,"  he  said,  taking  her  hands  gently. 
"I  beg  your  pardon  for  not  knowing  you  at 
once;  why  didn't  you  brush  back  that  stray  love- 
lock before  ?  I  see  now  how  very  like  her  you 
are.  Now  try  and  understand  this;  you  have 
much  yet  to  learn,  but  I  offer  you  a  place  in  my 
company  to  take  this  part  as  nearly  as  you  have 
done  it  this  afternoon  as  possible,  and  you  can 
trust  me  to  give  you  all  the  chance  you  need. 
If  you  will  work  as  I  believe  you  will,  you  are 
certain  to  make  a  name;  I  believe  you  may  be 
239 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

a  great  actress,  but  it  will  mean  harder  work 
than  you  have  ever  done  in  your  life." 

It  was  Hope's  Mount  of  Transfiguration, 
but  Louis  was  even  happier  than  she. 

"I  must  go  and  wire  Lorraine!"  she  said. 


240 


XXXI 

"*HE  Legislature  completed  its  labors  and 
adjourned  sine  die,  and  the  gerrymander 
bill  died  with  it,  though  there  was  a  sharp  fight, 
during  which  Ted  took  his  first  lesson  in  the 
great  American  system  of  circumlocution,  or 
how  not  to  get  things  done.  Michael  Cahill 
had  come  up  to  be  in  at  the  death,  and  he  and 
Ted  took  the  late,  or  early,  train  home. 

"Ye  have  done  well,"  said  Cahill.  "M'anin' 
no  reflection  on  ye,  I  think  ye  have  the  makin' 
av  a  legislator  in  ye.  Ye  are  honest,  but  ye  are 
not  foolish.  Ye  do  not  take  it  for  granted  that 
a  stove  will  not  be  stolen  because  it  is  hot. 
When  a  man  goes  into  a  place  where  there's  a 
large  number  of  ither  men,  it  makes  no  differ- 
ence if  it  is  a  penitentiary  or  a  Sunday-school 
convention,  he  should  always  raymimber  there's 
some  there  that  is  not  what  they  seem  to  be." 

Lorraine  and  Bess  followed  the  next  day  by 
boat,  glad  and  sorry  it  was  over,  and  enjoying 
the  peaceful  beauty  of  the  Hudson  after  the 
241 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

rush  and  confusion  and  wrangles  of  the  As- 
sembly. As  Bess  sat  on  a  low  camp-stool,  her 
arm  on  Lorraine's  knee,  she  looked  up  after  a 
long  interval  of  silence  with  an  expression  of 
hesitation  on  her  lovely  face. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  responded  Lorraine;  and 
for  answer  she  held  her  left  hand  up,  with  Ted's 
ring  shining  upon  it.  "Really?"  said  Lorraine, 
an  amused  look  creeping  into  her  face. 

But  for  the  absurdity  of  it,  one  would  have 
said  the  girl's  face  was  anxious.  "Don't  you 
mind,  Lorraine,  honestly  now,  don't  you  mind  ?" 
asked  Bess. 

Lorraine  kissed  her.  "I  am  honestly  de- 
lighted," she  replied.  "I'm  not  going  to  say 
'this  is  so  sudden,'  because  not  being  blind, 
I've  seen  it  coming  for  a  long  time.  Ted  is  a 
dear;  this  is  one  of  the  few  cases  where  it  will 
be  correct  to  congratulate  both  bride  and  groom, 
for  indeed,  Bess,  he  is  one  in  ten  thousand." 

"  But  —  but,"  faltered  Bess,  "  I  thought  you 
didn't  approve  of  getting  married  and  —  and 
giving  up  one's  career.  Or,  perhaps,  you  did 
not  believe  I  had  any  career?"  She  looked  up 
wistfully. 

242 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

"What  a  little  —  imitation  of  an  idiot  you 
can  be,"  said  Lorraine  cheerfully.  "Of  course 
I  believe  you  might  have  had  a  career,  and  I 
hope  you  will  not  entirely  forget  how  to  hold  a 
pencil,  or  that  blue  and  yellow  make  green,  or 
devote  all  your  artistic  ability  to  making  paper 
dolls;  but  what  you  give  up  isn't  worth  half  or 
a  tenth  of  what  you  will  gain.  Well,  go  on  and 
say  it." 

The  girl  hesitated.  "Isn't  it  funny,  Lor- 
raine ?"  she  said  finally.  "But  I  really  thought 
you  would  despise  me  for  capitulating  so  easily. 
You  and  Miss  Brent  always  talk  as  if  there  were 
no  use  in  getting  married  so  long  as  one  can  do 
anything  else." 

"Well,  is  there?"  said  Lorraine.  "Just  so 
long  as  there  is  anything  else  that  one  would 
rather  do,  under  any  circumstances,  she  has  no 
business  to  get  married.  That's  what  we  mean. 
But  don't  you  think  marriage  is  something  of  a 
career  ?  You  will  find  that  art  is  simple  and 
success  easy  compared  to  being  a  good  wife  and 
a  perfect  mother.  Isn't  it  strange,  my  dear, 
that  we  think  only  a  few  so  talented  that  they 
may  be  entitled  to  work  in  clay  or  marble,  and 
243 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

treat  lightly,  sometimes  almost  profanely,  the 
unspeakable  gift  of  molding  human  clay  into 
flesh  and  blood,  heart  and  mind  and  soul  ?  To 
my  mind,  being  a  mother  calls  for  more  genius 
than  anything  else  in  the  world,  and  for  more 
whole-hearted  consecration." 

"But  you  were  so  happy  over  Hope's  rinding 
herself,"  said  Bess,  still  half  unconvinced. 

"Oh,  yes,  more  than  happy,  but  don't  you  see  ? 
Hope  is  an  exemplification  of  the  hard  saying, 
that  'he  who  loseth  his  life  shall  find  it.'  And 
there  is  this  to  be  said  for  a  career,  especially 
such  a  one  as  hers  promises  to  be.  Work  is  like 
charity,  or  love,  if  you  prefer  the  revised  version, 
as  you  doubtless  do.  'Whether  there  be  proph- 
ecies, they  shall  fail;  whether  there  be  tongues, 
they  shall  cease;  whether  there  be  knowledge, 
it  shall  vanish  away,'  but  work  suffereth  long 
and  is  kind;  we  may  fling  it  aside  and  forget  it, 
but  it  awaits  our  return,  ready  to  supply  an 
interest  when  all  other  interests  have  fled;  it 
ministers  to  a  mind  diseased  and,  together  with 
time,  can  pluck  a  rooted  sorrow  from  the  brain. 
Love  may  fail,  youth  will  pass,  but  if  one  does 
the  thing  he  loves  to  do  he  has  one  unfailing 
244 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

source  of  joy.  That  is  the  reason  why  I  am  so 
thankful  for  Hope;  she  has  found,  you  would 
not  believe  it  if  I  said  'the  joy  of  living,'  but  the 
greatest  blessing  of  life.  Even  death,  that  robs 
us  of  all  else  in  time,  cannot  rob  of  this,  our  con- 
solation and  relief.  I  am  trying  hard  to  realize 
this  now,  when  the  shadow  of  death  is  upon 
our  home." 

"You  mean  Miss  Brent  ?"  said  Bess. 

"Yes;  she  thinks  she  has  kept  it  from  us  all, 
but  we  are  the  deceivers  ourselves,  and  since  it 
makes  her  happier  to  keep  up  the  innocent 
pretense  we  must  not  appear  to  notice  any 
change,  though  Hope  writes  me  she  has  broken 
very  much  the  last  two  weeks  since  we  have  seen 
her.  Tell  her  the  funny  things,  show  her  some 
of  your  caricatures  and  amuse  her  if  you  can." 

"  It  seems  heartless,"  said  the  girl. 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,"  answered  the  older 
woman.  "She  is  going  — not  to  suffer  any 
more.  We  ought  to  look  on  death  as  a  resur- 
rection, not  a  burial.  It  is  'with  the  morn  those 
angel  faces  smile.'  I  know  this  and  I  say  it 
over  and  over,  and  for  her  I  can  be  sincerely 
thankful,  but  —  oh  Bess,  when  I  think  of  poor 
245 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

Miss  Elise,  and  of  going  on  without  that  cour- 
ageous, helpful  spirit,  I  am  ready  enough  to 
admit  that  words  are  useless!  I  want  you  and 
Ted  to  go  to  them  and  ask  their  blessing;  surely 
they  have  been  our  guardian  angels  ever  since 
dear  old  Uncle  Peter  sent  Miss  Emma  to  us; 
and  then  talk  over  your  housekeeping  arrange- 
ments with  Miss  Elise.  It  will  do  her  good  to 
feel  that  we  still  need  and  depend  upon  her  and 
love  her  very  much.  You  have  no  idea  what  a 
fine,  strong,  brave  little  soul  she  is,  and  we  must 
do  all  we  can  to  help  her  now.  I  didn't  mean 
to  sadden  you  with  this  to-day,  when  you  are  so 
happy,  and  I  am  so  happy  for  you  —  " 

"Don't  speak  as  if  I  were  a  child,"  said  Bess, 
"or  as  if  my  heart  were  so  narrow  that  one 
love  must  crowd  out  all  others.  I  am  glad  you 
have  told  me.  We  are  almost  home,  Lorraine! 
Doesn't  it  seem  good  to  be  home ! " 


246 


XXXII 

you  think  Miss  Emma  would  like 
to  have  a  quiet  little  gathering  next 
Saturday  night,  Miss  Elise?"  asked  Hope. 
"Would  it  be  too  much  for  her,  or  would  she 
be  pleased  ?" 

Miss  Elise  looked  up  quickly.  They  had 
not  foregathered  in  one  of  the  old-fashioned 
Saturday  nights  since  Hope's  trouble  had  come 
upon  her.  "  I  think  Emmy  would  like  it  of  all 
things;  she  has  been  lamenting  our  dulness,  but 
couldn't  we  have  it  Sunday  night  instead  ?" 
replied  thoughtful  little  Elise. 

"Sunday  will  be  the  best  for  Prince  Karl," 
answered  Hope.  "He  is  studying  so  hard  I 
doubt  if  we  could  get  him  any  other  day,  and 
a  week  from  Monday  is  the  day  of  days  for 
Louis  and  me.  Can  I  help  Gretchen  about 
anything?" 

"You  are  rather  busy  yourself,  aren't  you  ?" 
said  Miss  Elise;  "but  if  you  can  come  in  Sunday 
morning  or  afternoon  and  make  the  sandwiches 
247 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you,  and  be  sure  and 
tell  the  children  that  they  are  to  come  just  as 
usual,  and  talk  and  be  merry.  They  can  be 
as  attentive  as  they  like,  but  they  mustn't  ask 
Emmy  how  she  is  feeling,  or  so  much  as  look 
sympathetic.  She  is  so  morbid  over  being  ill, 
and  so  afraid  of  being  a  damper,  that  nothing 
you  can  do  will  please  her  so  much  as  for  you 
just  to  be  liie  your  old  selves." 

"We'll  try,"  said  Hope  obediently;  "and  if 
any  of  us  seem  inclined  to  be  tearful,  just  give 
us  a  look  and  we'll  remember.  Oh,  Miss  Elise, 
when  I  think  how  bravely  you  have  played  your 
part  all  through,  I  fear  I  shall  never  be  half  so 
good  an  actress  as  you!" 

The  young  folks  gathered  early  that  Sunday 
evening,  conscious  that  there  had  been  many 
changes  since  they  separated,  and  that  greater 
changes  were  not  far  from  them,  for  the  slopes 
of  Mount  Parnassus  were  to  be  depopulated. 
Immediately  after  his  graduation  Prince  Karl 
was  to  start  for  South  Africa;  Bess  and  Ted 
were  to  be  married  and  spend  the  summer 
with  his  people  on  the  Herkimer  county  farm. 
Mary  Deland  was  going  abroad,  her  book 
248 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

having  been  one  of  those  rare  instantaneous 
successes  that  bring  wealth  and  fame  at  the 
same  time,  and  she  had  asked  Lorraine  to  go 
with  her.  As  before,  Lorraine  had  refused. 
"I  can't  leave  them  now;  later  I  will  come  and 
bring  Miss  Elise  with  me,"  she  had  promised; 
and  Mary  had  already  sailed.  As  for  Miss 
Brent  it  was  evident  that  her  feet  were  already 
set  upon  the  shadowy  pathway  that  leads  down 
into  the  valley.  For  a  little  time  there  was  a 
feeling  of  constraint,  then  Lorraine  came  to 
the  rescue  and,  improvising  a  gavel,  she  ham- 
mered on  the  table. 

"The  joint  assembly  will  be  in  order,"  she 
commanded,  "that  we  may  listen  to  the  gov- 
ernor's address.  Your  Excellency  has  the 
floor;"  and  she  turned  and  bowed  to  Miss 
Brent. 

The  old  lady  rose.  She  was  feeble,  but  her 
face  had  kept  its  cheeriness,  in  spite  of  the  lines 
that  pain  had  graved  upon  it. 

"I  want  your  help  and  advice,"  she  said, 
"upon  a  plan  that  has  long  been  in  my  mind; 
it  is  not  very  well  outlined,  but  I  think  Lor- 
raine can  explain  it,  and  I  want  you  all  to  feel 
249 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

free  to  offer  suggestions,  because  but  for  you 
—  all  of  you  —  it  would  never  have  entered 
my  mind.  You  tell  about  it,  Lorraine." 

It  was  evidently  an  effort  for  her  to  remain 
standing  or  to  talk,  and  Lorraine  had  to 
struggle  with  a  cough  and  a  lump  in  her  throat 
before  she  could  go  on.  Finally  she  resumed, 
as  lightly  as  she  could:  "As  we  all  know,  we 
are  in  the  presence  of  two  of  the  most  devoted 
of  the  patrons  of  the  arts  and  sciences,  and  more 
especially  of  those  neophytes  thereof  who  are 
floundering  around,  lost  in  the  swamps  of  toil, 
with  never  a  helping  hand  to  haul  them  out 
and  set  them  on  the  hard,  well-trodden  path 
that  leads  to  a  loaf  of  bread.  They  believe, 
these  Heavenly  Twins  of  ours,  that  the  best 
way  to  help  people  is  to  help  them  to  help 
themselves.  In  fact  it  is  the  only  way.  We 
none  of  us  believe  much  in  charity  as  it  usually 
is  exercised." 

"Tell  'em  that  thing  Roosevelt  said  about 
charity,"  interrupted  Miss  Brent. 

"Oh,  yes;  I'm  glad  you  reminded  me! 
He  says,  'The  soup-kitchen  style  of  philan- 
thropy is  worse  than  useless,  for  in  philan- 
250 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

thropy,  as  everywhere  else  in  life,  almost  as 
much  harm  is  done  by  soft-headedness  as  by 
hard-heartedness.' ' 

"Hear,  hear!"  cried  Ted;  and  there  was  a 
ripple  of  applause. 

"In  short,"  continued  Lorraine,  "the  Heav- 
enly Twins  wish  to  found  a  Genius  Fund; 
something  along  the  plan  of  scholarships,  ex- 
cept that  it  is  to  be  a  loan  fund  to  be  repaid 
by  the  genius  when  he  arrives.  Any  young 
person  who  can  show  more  than  ordinary 
ability  in  any  of  the  fields  of  art  or  science,  and 
satisfy  the  trustees  that  he  is  a  worthy  follower 
thereof,  is  to  be  allowed  to  draw  on  the  fund 
to  a  certain  amount,  giving  his  promise  to  repay 
the  money  advanced  to  him  during  the  lean 
years  of  study  and  preparation,  when  the  fat 
years  come." 

"Is  there  to  be  no  security  ?"  asked  Ted. 

"None  save  the  honor  and  good  faith  of  the 
young  people  asking  assistance,"  answered  Miss 
Brent.  "We  must  believe  that  there  is  no 
higher  security  than  the  youth  and  the  youth- 
ful ideals  of  a  nation,  or  rank  ourselves  among 
the  most  pessimistic  of  pessimists." 
251 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

"The  trust  will  not  be  abused  if  we  have  the 
right  kind  of  a  board  of  trustees,"  said  Lor- 
raine, "but  that  is  almost  as  important  as  the 
fund  itself.  They  must  be  people  who  will 
carry  out  the  spirit  as  well  as  the  letter  of  the 
trust,  and  that  is  one  of  the  things  about  which 
the  founders  wish  to  consult  you." 

"You  are  going  to  find  one  trouble  to  begin 
with,"  said  Louis.  "If  you  get  professional 
people  on  the  board  they  are  all  going  to  say 
the  same  thing,  with  variations  according  to 
species.  Don't  act,  don't  sing,  don't  write, 
don't  study  law  or  medicine,  don't  paint,  or 
try  to  let  the  angel  out  of  the  marble  with  your 
chisel.  If  you  haven't  two  or  three  degrees 
and  half  the  alphabet  after  your  name,  you 
cannot  cope  with  the  English  language.  If  you 
haven't  studied  abroad  don't  attempt  to  sing 
for  the  American  public  that  fancies  itself 
musical  because  it  whistles  'Bedelia.'  You 
may  be  a  second  Jenny  Lind;  it  makes  no  dif- 
ference, the  Door  of  Don't  will  be  slammed  in 
your  face  just  the  same." 

"That's  true,"  said  Lorraine,  "with  certain 
shining  exceptions.  I  have  long  understood 
252 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

that  no  one  should  go  on  the  stage  who  is  not 
at  least  five  feet  five  inches  tall;  this  would 
let  Hope  scrape  through,  but  it  would  bar  out 
about  the  most  successful  American  actress  we 
own.  Mrs.  Fiske  is  a  genius,  but  her  best 
friend  wouldn't  claim  that  she  is  tall  —  only 
about  as  tall  as  Rachel,  at  least." 

"And  you  can't  get  into  the  army  unless  you 
are  half  a  head  taller  than  Napoleon,"  said 
Prince  Karl  disgustedly.  "I  hope  the  Japs 
have  taught  the  world  a  thing  or  two  in  that 
regard.  I  missed  my  physical  examination  for 
West  Point  by  four  pounds.  You  have  only 
to  look  at  the  average  policeman  to  know 
that  in  this  country  valor  and  fat  are  synony- 
mous." 

Miss  Brent  laughed.  "There's  a  lot  in  that," 
she  said.  "We  are  a  great  people,  we  Ameri- 
cans, but  we  are  young  yet.  We  won't  go  into 
the  international  copyright  agreement  because 
we  want  to  pirate  foreign  books,  and  we  won't 
put  art  on  the  free  list  because  it  is  an  infant 
industry,  though  we  have  no  welcome  for  our 
infant  artists  until  they  come  sailing  up  to  Ellis 
Island.  Hand  me  that  book  over  there,  Elise." 
253 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

She  adjusted  her  glasses,  found  her  place,  and 
looking  up  said,  "Just  let  me  read  you  this; 
Mrs.  Ward  says,  not  Mrs.  Humphry,  but  she 
as  was  a  Phelps:  'Make  shoes,  weed  cabbages, 
survey  land,  keep  house,  make  ice  cream,  sell 
cake,  climb  a  telephone  pole,  be  a  lightning- 
rod  pedler  or  a  book  agent  before  you  set 
your  heart  upon  it  that  you  shall  write  for  a 
living.  .  .  .  Unless  you  are  prepared  to  work 
like  a  slave  at  his  galley,  for  the  toss-up  chance 
at  a  freedom  which  may  be  denied  him  when 
his  work  is  done,  do  not  write.  There  are 
some  pleasant  things  about  this  way  of  spend- 
ing a  lifetime,  but  there  are  no  easy  ones. 
There  are  privileges  in  it,  but  there  are  heart- 
ache, mortification,  discouragement,  and  eternal 
doubt.  Had  one  not  better  have  made  bread 
or  picture  frames,  run  a  motor,  or  invented  a 
bicycle  tire  ?' ' 

"That's  all  very  fine,"  said  Bess,  "but  if 
she'd  tried  making  ice  cream  or  selling  cake 
she  might  have  learned  that  those  pleasant 
callings  have  their  drawbacks  also;  there  has 
always  been  an  eternal  doubt  about  my  loaf- 
cake.  My  favorite  of  all  her  heroines  confesses 
254 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

to  making  very  sour  bread,  but  she  paints  real 
pictures,  nevertheless." 

"As  for  the  joys  of  being  a  book  agent,  and 
finding  signs  in  all  the  big  buildings  to  warn 
you  to  keep  out  and  dogs  loose  in  all  the  small 
yards  for  the  same  benevolent  purpose,"  said 
Lorraine,  "while  I  may  never  amass  wealth  by 
writing  books,  I'll  enjoy  it  more  and  probably 
make  quite  as  much  as  I  would  selling  them 
for  other  people.  However,  I  can  almost  for- 
give her  the  rest  of  the  paragraph,  because  she 
says  'had  better'  in  the  last  sentence.  That 
from  a  Bostonian  does  my  heart  good,  even  if 
I  am  convinced  one  hadn't  better." 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  and  Prince  Karl 
rejoined:  "That's  the  way  with  the  average  of 
the  artistic  and  professional  crowd.  Never  hav- 
ing done  anything  with  their  hands,  they  think 
everybody  else  had  better  stick  to  manual 
labor;  that  is  the  easy  road  to  a  competence. 
You  must  all  have  noticed  the  large  number  of 
successful  blacksmiths  who  live  in  their  vine- 
clad  cottages  in  the  most  exclusive  sections  of 
town  and  ride  in  automobiles,  while  they  con- 
sent to  shoe  the  horses  of  the  humbler  ranks 
255 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

of  society.  As  a  rule,  we  have  all  seen  that 
lightning-rod  agents  electrify  the  world.  All 
the  people  who  are  on  top  insist  that  the  only 
place  that  isn't  crowded  to  suffocation  is  to  be 
found  at  the  bottom.  But  there's  one  sugges- 
tion I'd  like  to  make.  The  idea  seems  to  me 
one  of  the  finest  imaginable,  but  couldn't  there 
be  some  other  object  beside  just  helping  a  lot  of 
young  people  ?  Couldn't  there  be  some  kind  of 
an  obligation  on  their  part  beside  the  mere  return 
of  the  money  advanced  to  them  ?  It  seems  to 
me,  if  I  were  a  beneficiary  of  such  a  fund,  I 
should  be  more  contented  if  I  felt  that  I  could 
do  something  to  show  my  appreciation  of  those 
who  had  founded  it.  I  can't  make  myself  quite 
clear,  but  I  think  sometimes  it  is  a  good  thing 
to  feel  that  there  are  benefits  that  can  never  be 
repaid  in  money." 

The  old,  whimsical  smile  lit  Miss  Brent's 
thin,  drawn  face.  "Good  boy;  you've  exactly 
struck  it,"  she  said.  "I've  been  thinking  it 
out  while  you  have  been  talking,  and  I  have  a 
burden  to  lay  upon  my  geniuses.  Perhaps  you 
have  heard  the  old  superstition  about  finding 
one's  mission,  though  I  believe  this  only  applies 
256 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

to  women,  in  the  thirty-first  chapter  of  Proverbs, 
in  the  verse  corresponding  to  one's  birthday. 
Mine  is  this,  and  all  my  life  I  have  been  trying 
to  live  up  to  it:  'Open  thy  mouth  for  the  dumb 
in  the  cause  of  all  such  as  are  appointed  to 
destruction.'  My  geniuses  must  be  willing  to 
do  something  once  every  year,  so  long  as  they 
live,  for  the  sake  of  those  that  suffer  in  silence. 
If  the  musician  can  do  no  more,  he  can  sing  or 
play  for  the  children  in  some  hospital,  or  for 
the  old  in  some  poorhouse,  or  for  those  in 
prison.  If  the  artist  cannot  paint  like  Landseer, 
he  can  still  devote  the  price  of  a  picture  to 
paying  dog  licenses  for  the  poor  children  of 
his  town  or  city.  The  lawyer  can  try  to  secure 
the  passage  and  enforcement  of  laws  for  the 
protection  of.  children  and  animals;  and  the 
doctor  can  set  himself  as  flint  against  vivisec- 
tion." 

"Why  wouldn't  it  be  as  well  to  make  it  a 
fund  for  the  protection  of  animals  in  the  first 
place?"  asked  Ted.  "It  would  be  very  much 
simpler  and  more  easily  administered." 

"Perhaps  I  might  have  done  so,"  she  an- 
swered, "if  I  had  not  had  the  experience  of 
257 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

having  all  you  young  folks  with  me.  It  has 
been  a  great  lesson  to  me,  mes  enfants.  I  used 
to  like  almost  any  kind  of  animal  better  than 
the  human  kind,  but  I  don't  any  more.  Be- 
sides, as  Karl  has  pointed  out,  I  wanted  some- 
thing more  than  a  temporary  relief  and  a  tem- 
porary benefit.  This  will  be  an  ever-widening, 
an  always-growing  crusade  against  cruelty.  Do 
you  think  war  would  be  possible  if  Verastcha- 
gin's  picture,  *  Forgotten,'  were  exhibited  in 
every  village  and  city  ?  Put  a  photograph  of  it 
over  every  notice  of  the  recruiting  officer,  —  the 
wounded  boy  with  arms  outstretched  towards 
the  batteries  that  are  disappearing  in  the  dust 
far  down  the  mountainside,  as  his  life  ebbs 
away  from  hideous  wounds,  while  a  vulture 
hovers  over  him  in  greedy  expectation.  That 
is  war.  Do  you  recall  Mark  Twain's  story  of 
the  vivisector's  dog  ?  That  is  the  kind  of  trib- 
ute I  want  from  my  geniuses.  They  will  not 
be  Verastchagins  or  Twains,  but  they  can  add 
their  protest;  they  can  do  their  best  to  lighten 
the  burden  of  cruelty  and  stupidity." 

The  old  lady  sank  into  her  chair,  exhausted 
with  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  and  with 
258 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

quick  tact  and  comprehension  Lorraine  and 
Hope  put  the  subject  by,  and  bringing  in  the 
little  tables  served  the  dainty  refreshments,  in 
the  old  informal  way,  and  after  some  music 
there  was  a  general  good-night. 


259 


XXXIII 

T  TP  to  the  great  day  of  the  great  First  Night, 
Louis  and  Hope  and  Miss  Brent  had  all 
tried  to  believe  that  she  would  be  able  to  occupy 
the  box  reserved  for  the  occasion.  When  she 
finally  gave  it  up,  it  would  have  been  hard  to 
say  which  was  the  most  disappointed. 

"Elise  shall  go,"  she  said;  "she  will  enjoy  it 
and  bring  you  good  luck  and  a  blessing  as  she 
has  me  all  these  years." 

But  Elise  was  unwilling  to  leave  her  sister. 
Finally  at  an  appealing  look  from  Miss  Brent, 
Lorraine  spirited  Miss  Elise  away.  "Do  go," 
she  said,  "and  let  me  stay.  I  wouldn't  tell 
Hope  for  anything,  but  I  should  absolutely 
suffer  through  it,  in  a  cold  fear  lest  she  should 
forget  a  syllable,  or  some  stupid  actor  spoil 
Louis'  masterpiece.  They  have  taken  me  to 
see  the  dress-rehearsal,  and  it  is  great,  but  I 
should  be  on  tenter-hooks  to-night.  It  will  be 
a  mercy  to  me  if  you  will  go,  and  leave  me  with 
Miss  Emma.  And  besides,  they  are  your  own 
260 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

particular  swans.  I  know  that  there  have  been 
ever  so  many  times  when  they  have  been  going 
disconsolately  away  to  die  as  mere  ugly  duck- 
lings under  the  first  currant  bush,  when  you 
have  made  them  believe  in  their  future.  They 
will  be  unhappy  if  you  don't  go  —  why,  of 
course,  they  must  have  one  of  you;  what  would 
any  of  us  be  without  you  ?  Please  go,  Miss 
Elise,  and  let  me  take  care  of  Miss  Emma." 

Even  then  she  might  have  refused,  had  not 
Miss  Emma  hobbled  in  and  added  her  en- 
treaties. "Do  go,  Elise,"  she  said.  "It  won't 
be  long,  and  I  shall  like  to  think  that  you  are 
there.  Have  you  made  all  the  arrangements  ? 
We  want  to  give  the  swans  a  supper  when  they 
come  back,  for  of  course  it  is  going  to  be  a 
triumph;  Lorraine  and  Elise  and  I  want  to 
drink  to  you  all  and  pledge  your  futures  in 
some  very  harmless  punch." 

So  it  was  settled,  and  the  two  friends  were 
left  alone,  the  one  so  frail  and  near  the  end, 
the  other  so  strong  and  self-reliant  with  all  the 
best  of  life  before  her.  When  the  house  was 
quite  silent  Lorraine  knelt  beside  Miss  Brent 
and  took  her  hand. 

261 


UNDER  THE   HARROW 

"You  wanted  to  tell  me  something?"  she 
said. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  answered  Miss  Brent.  "I 
have  told  Elise,  and  we  had  a  consultation  with 
the  doctor  to-day.  He  says  it  may  be  soon; 
and  yet,  I  have  lasted  so  much  longer  than  he 
thought  possible,  that  he  will  not  be  surprised 
if  the  release  does  not  come  for  some  time  yet. 
Is  it  not  terrible  ?  Even  if  I  could  endure  the 
pain  myself  without  wincing,  it  is  almost  as 
bad  to  watch  little  Elise  suffering  with  me,  and 
knowing  neither  she  nor  any  power  on  earth 
can  help  me.  I  cannot  feel  that  I  ought  to  put 
her  to  this  torture.  It  is  not  right,  Lorraine, 
you  must  feel  in  your  heart  of  hearts  that  it  is 
not  right.  If  there  were  anything  to  be  gained, 
or  if  I  might  suffer  alone  and  add  to  her  happi- 
ness by  remaining  here,  perhaps  I  should  be 
strong  enough  to  bear  it,  but  it  seems  to  me  a 
useless  sacrifice." 

Lorraine's  self-control  was  gone,  and  she 
buried  her  face  in  the  brown  silk  lap. 

Miss  Brent  stroked  her  rumpled  hair.  "I 
wanted  to  tell  you  that  I  have  seen  my  lawyer 
too,  and  explained  to  him  about  the  fund,  and 
262 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

he  understands  everything  and  will  arrange 
with  you  and  Ted  and  Elise.  I  didn't  feel 
quite  strong  enough  to  bother  with  all  the 
details  myself,  and  Elise  will  know  just  what  I 
would  wish. 

"I  have  tried  to  be  patient  and  strong,  Lor- 
raine. I  have  tried  as  I  watched  Louis  struggle 
with  his  hopeless  heartache,  and  Hope  battling 
against  her  bitter  grief  and  humiliation,  and 
little  Elise  trying  to  put  from  her  the  misery 
and  dread  of  the  years  to  come.  I  do  not 
think  I  have  altogether  failed,  but  there  comes 
a  time  when  it  is  weakness  to  fear  convention 
so  much  that  rather  than  defy  it  we  suffer 
unnecessarily  ourselves  and  thrust  suffering  on 
others.  I  wanted  to  say  this  to  you,  Lorraine, 
though  no  one  else  must  ever  know  that  I  have 
said  it.  Perhaps  Death  himself  may  be  merci- 
ful, at  last.  Kiss  me,  my  dear,  and  know  that 
if  the  dead  return  I  shall  be  often  near  you. 
Now  go  and  play  something  slow  and  drowsy 
and  dreamy,  and  I'll  try  to  sleep  so  as  to  be 
rested  when  they  come.  You  are  a  dear  girl, 
Lorraine,  and  have  been  a  comfort  to  me;  you 
will  be  to  little  Elise  when  she  needs  you,  I 
263 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

know,  without  your  telling  me  so.  Go  play 
any  little  ballad  thing  —  you  know  the  music 
I  like." 

Lorraine  played  on  in  the  half  light  that 
streamed  in  from  the  hall,  and  Miss  Brent 
dropped  asleep  or  into  a  half  doze  that  left 
her  faintly  conscious  of  the  peaceful  hush  and 
the  soft,  tender  music  stealing  over  her  senses. 
Lorraine  was  playing  "Solvejg's  Song"  when 
the  wheels  of  the  returning  carriages  roused 
Miss  Brent. 

"Quick,"  she  commanded,  "turn  on  the 
lights  and  strike  up  something  appropriate, 
'Hail  to  the  Chief,'  or  something — " 

Lorraine  sprang  up,  turned  on  all  the  lights 
and  was  playing  "Lo,  the  Conquering  Hero 
Comes"  with  grace  notes  and  accidentals  not 
to  be  found  in  any  arrangement  of  it,  when  they 
all  came  in  together,  pell-mell,  all  talking  and 
laughing  at  once,  save  Hope  and  Louis,  and 
trying  to  explain  how  Racine  and  Rachel, 
Moliere  and  Mrs.  Siddons,  had  all  been  put 
to  rout. 

Lorraine  drove  them  all  into  the  dining-room, 
where  Louis  was  seated  at  Miss  Elise's  right 
264 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

and  Hope  by  Miss  Emma,  and  there  were  toasts 
and  more  toasts,  and  Miss  Emma  seemed  to 
forget  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  pain,  while 
she  pledged  first  one  and  then  another. 

"I  am  sure  we  ought  to  feel  honored,"  she 
said,  "for  I  know  the  lions  were  wanted  and 
expected  elsewhere.  But  you  were  wise  to  come 
straight  home.  When  'The  School  for  Scandal' 
was  put  on,  Sheridan  celebrated  so  vigorously 
that  he  woke  up  in  jail  the  next  day.  I'm  glad 
to  have  you  emulate  his  success  without  drown- 
ing your  pleasure  in  the  flowing  bowl.  You  can 
drink  endless  quantities  of  this  punch  without 
fear  of  a  headache.  All  success  to  you,  my 
boy,  but  if  discouragement  comes,  remember 
that  Shakespeare  never,  no  never  wrote  one  of 
the  six  best-selling  books!" 

They  drank  the  toast  standing,  and  then  Miss 
Elise  led  Louis  to  the  head  of  the  table,  so  that 
the  Heavenly  Twins  stood  together,  Louis  on 
one  side  and  Hope  on  the  other,  both  of  them 
happy,  confused  and  blushing  at  the  honors 
heaped  upon  them.  But  in  spite  of  vociferous 
demands  they  could  not  speak.  Louis  stam- 
mered words  of  incoherent  gratitude  and  affec- 
265 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

tion  to  the  Heavenly  Twins  and  all  the  dwellers 
on  Mount  Parnassus  for  the  faith  and  inspiration 
that  had  never  failed  him  on  the  weary  upward 
climb,  and  then  he  turned  to  Hope.  "Of  the 
play,"  he  said  brokenly,  "if  I  cannot  claim  that 
it  is  so  good  as  to  need  no  epilogue,  then  I  must 
confess  like  a  dull  actor  now,  I  have  forgotten 
my  part.  Whatever  success  has  come  to  me  I 
owe  to  you,  who  have  believed  in  me  and  most 
of  all  to  her,"  —he  bowed  to  Hope,  —  "whose 
very  name  is  a  bugle  call  to  the  drooping  spirit 
and  whose  genius  has  wrested  victory  from 
defeat!" 

"Make  him  your  best  bow,  Hope,  and  prom- 
ise to  spring  eternal  whenever  the  cue  comes," 
said  Lorraine  laughing.  "Hope  is  a  lover's 
staff,'"  she  whispered  in  an  aside  to  Miss  Emma. 
"I  wish  we  were  sure  that  he  might  'walk  hence 
with  that.'  Come,  Hope,  say  something  for 
us  to  remember  when  the  great  world  claims 
you,  and  we  have  become  only  part  of  the  crowd 
that  stand  in  line  before  the  box  office." 

But  Hope  turned  first  to  the  Heavenly  Twins 
and  then  to  Louis  with  something  upon  her  face 
that  none  of  them  had  ever  seen  before,  and  the 
266 


UNDER  THE  HARROW 

voice  that  had  thrilled  the  great  audience  an 
hour  or  two  ago  was  low  and  tremulous  with 
feeling. 

"There  are  no  words  to  thank  you,"  she  said. 
"  For  you,  Louis,  the  world  will  bring  its  tribute. 
But  I,  what  can  I  say  ?  I  that  was  dead  and  am 
alive  again,  I  who  was  lost  and  am  found  ?" 

There  was  a  moment's  hush,  then  Miss  Brent 
said  quite  gayly,  "If  I  remember  it,  the  rest  of 
that  verse  is,  'And  they  began  to  be  merry!'  If 
these  geniuses  of  ours  refuse  to  let  us  burn  in- 
cense, here's  to  the  bride!  Teddy,  we  congratu- 
late you  on  acquiring  a  genius  all  for  your  own. 
Bess,  we  hope  you  will  be  happy,  though  mar- 
ried. Here's  to  the  geniuses,  may  you  live  long 
and  prosper;  God  bless  you  all,  God  bless  you 

every  one." 

***** 

When  the  morning  dawned  the  greatest  bless- 
ing to  those  who  sink  to  slumber  in  pain,  and 
waken  in  suffering,  had  brought  release  to 
Miss  Brent. 


267 


A  Novel  that  Mirrors  Washington  Society 


THE  IMPERSONATOR 


By  MARY   IMLAY  TAYLOR 

Illustrated  by  Ch.  Grunwald.     12mo.    Cloth,  $1.50 


An  exceedingly  fascinating  story. —  Atlanta  Constitution. 

Not  only  a  most  absorbing  story,  but  the  ranking  novel 
of  those  whose  scenes  are  laid  in  Washington.  —  Lilian 
Whiting  in  Times-Democrat. 

The  humor  and  satire  with  which  social  life  in  the  cap- 
ital is  described  gives  the  book  a  deserved  popularity  even 
if  the  charming  love  story  and  surprising  denouement  did 
not  add  an  exceptional  degree  of  interest.  —  Washington 
Star. 

A  pretty  girl  art  student  in  Paris  is  induced  by  a 
homely  girl  art  student  to  go  to  Washington  as  the 
substitute  for  the  homely  one,  who  has  been  invited  to 
visit  a  rich  aunt  whom  she  has  never  seen.  From  first 
to  last  the  interest  is  skilfully  maintained.  —  SL  Louis 
Post  Dispatch. 

Clever  both  in  conception  and  execution.  ...  A  tale 
of  Washington  society  reflecting  with  accuracy  certain 
aspects  of  the  semi-fast  life  of  the  nation's  capital.  .  .  . 
The  characters  are  all  strongly  individualized  and  the 
action  is  as  swift  as  it  is  natural.  The  impersonator  her- 
self is  admirably  drawn.  —  Boston  Transcript. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &    CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
254  WASHINGTON  STREET,  BOSTON 


A  Novel  with  a  Problem  to  Solve 


THE  MASTER  KNOT 
OF  HUMAN  FATE 


By  ELLIS   MEREDITH 
Author  of  "  Under  the  Harrow,"  etc.     16mo.    Cloth,  $1.25 


A  remarkable  book ;  original  in  action,  conception,  de- 
velopment, treatment,  and  the  mystery  of  the  "  unguessed 
riddle."  —  Buffalo  Commercial. 

An  admirably  conceived  and  well  written  story,  in 
which  the  interest  is  maintained  up  to  the  tantalizing 
end.  —  Philadelphia  North  A  merican. 

A  remarkably  powerful  and  remarkably  fascinating 
story.  .  .  .  The  reader  will  enjoy  "  The  Master  Knot " 
for  its  rare  imaginative  power  and  its  novel  situation. 
—  Boston  Journal. 

Since  Olive  Schreiner  wrote  that  oddly  fascinating 
"Story  of  an  African  Farm,"  with  its  unanswerable 
queries,  there  has  been  nothing  to  compare  with  it  until 
this  riddle  of  Ellis  Meredith's.  —  Los  Angeles  Herald. 

An  intensely  human  book.  The  play  of  human  passion, 
the  movement  of  human  experience,  the  force  of  human 
love,  all  combine  to  give  us  a  story  of  which  the  length  is 
all  too  short.  —  Baltimore  Sun. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &   CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
254  WASHINGTON  STREET,  BOSTON 


A  Delightful  New  Blue  Grass  Country  Character 


AUNT      . 
JANE  OF  KENTUCKY 


By  ELIZA   CALVERT   HALL 
Illustrated  by  Beulah  Strong.     12mo.     Cloth,  $1.50 


This  book,  a  picture  of  rural  Kentucky  life,  will  evoke 
the  deepest  sympathy  from  every  human  heart  with 
which  its  characters  come  in  contact.  Aunt  Jane  is  a 
philosopher  in  homespun  and  in  her  "  ricollections  "  we 
see  the  beauty,  the  romance,  and  the  pathos  that  lie  in 
humble  lives. 

The  humor  of  the  book  is  softened  and  refined  by  being 
linked  with  pathos  and  romance,  and  the  character  draw- 
ing is  done  with  a  firm  hand.  Nancy  Huston  Banks, 
the  well  known  author,  says  it  is  "  a  faithful  portrayal  of 
provincial  life  in  Kentucky,  but  something  more  than 
that  too ;  for  the  universal  note  which  marks  the  value  of  all 
creative  writing  sounds  on  every  page." 

Every  one  is  sure  to  love  Aunt  Jane  and  her  neighbors, 
her  quilts  and  her  flowers,  her  stories  and  her  quaint, 
tender  philosophy. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &   CO.,  PUBLISHERS 

254  WASHINGTON  STREET,  BOSTON 


" Something  absolutely  new"  —  Chicago  Record-Herald 


THE  WIRE  TAPPERS 


By  ARTHUR  STRINGER 

Illustrated  by  Arthur  William  Brown.     12mo.     Decorated 
Cloth.     $1.50 


The  oddest  love  story  in  current  fiction.  —  Kansas 
City  Star. 

Mr.  Stringer  is  at  his  best  in  this  novel.  —  Hartford 
Courant. 

Really  a  fine  specimen  of  the  fiction  of  excitement  done 
by  a  skilful  hand.  —  New  York  Globe. 

Worked  out  with  an  amazing  cleverness.  —  New  York 
Herald. 

Far  removed  from  sensational  fiction  by  its  character 
drawing,  which  is  excellent.  A  sincerely  worthy  work,  by 
far  the  best  thing  Mr.  Stringer  has  yet  produced.  —  Boston 
Transcript. 

This  story  of  a  young  man  and  young  woman  thrown 
into  a  criminal  environment,  through  force  of  circum- 
stances, throbs  with  virility.  An  underworld  story  with- 
out sordidness.  —  New  York  Dramatic  Mirror. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,   PUBLISHERS 
254  WASHINGTON  STREET,  BOSTON 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


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